


Blood, Dust, and Aura

by Vostok2142



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gen, Post-Season 3 AU, Soldiers, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29837631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vostok2142/pseuds/Vostok2142
Summary: After a group of White Fang commandos strikes into the heart of Atlas, Winter Schnee assembles a group of unlikely individuals to wage a long and bloody conflict.But as she carves her way through Remnant, Winter finds herself in the middle of a secret war that has been ongoing for millennia.Importing from Fanfiction.net
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Winter Schnee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. The Black Claws

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Had this idea around for a bit and wanted to get back to writing again. Not entirely too happy with how things in canon are portrayed or turned out, so just a fun little thing I'm going with. It's been way too long since I wrote anything, and I haven't been actively practicing. But, I wanted to do something, so here it is.
> 
> Story and events set Post Season 3, an AU where the events in Season 4 ended differently, resulting things playing out differently years down the line. Slight worldbuilding and history change. Toned down Aura.
> 
> Reposting from Fanfiction, mainly because I want to catch out spelling errors and what not. Found a few, corrected on here and updated on there. Will be posting them side by side from now on.

**The Black Claws**

_5 Years Ago  
_ _Somewhere in Mantle_

In the dead of night, the winds of Mantle were gentle this time of the year. The bleak landscape, lit from reflections of the shattered moon above, was proud and bright in its flawed beauty. In the distance, small lights of the never sleeping kingdom of Atlas and Mantle blinked, a large beacon of civilization and warmth in the middle of this desolate snow waste.

It was a calm night, snow drifted gently down in a never-ending cascade. Animals hibernated, the Grimm froze, and soldiers stood guard in their eternal vigil. But tonight, the White Fang hunted for prey.

Movement.

The snow in the mountains shifted.

From the piles of white, white figures emerged from the ground, like ghosts of long-dead soldiers from battles long forgotten. Thirty men and women stepped out of their camouflaged foxholes and started to march towards the floating kingdom of Atlas.

They moved like phantoms, unseen and unheard. Each step they took was in the place of the man in front. They moved in sync as one, the last man covering their tracks with a few brushes of a dead branch.

When they reached the designated point, the snow was thinner and the air less biting. The men shed their thick coats and buried them hastily in the earth.

The leader checked his wristwatch and nodded in satisfaction. Right on time.

The march continued, this time at a much quicker pace. Previous caution and stealth abandoned, they hurried to the next point. Their timing must be perfect, and the execution flawless.

Finally, they drew close upon the edge of Mantle. This approach was not walled off from the Grimm, for it was impossible for any creature to survive the long and arduous trek through the hostile cold. The team could see the busy roads of the never sleeping kingdom, under the watchful eyes of the most powerful military force on Remnant.

They had just waltzed in.

Atlas's geographic advantage had left their people complacent. In a war against Grimm, this complacency could be forgiven. In a war against humanity, it was a weakness to be exploited.

They looked upon the mesmerizing scenery and drank in the details. They were all mentally prepared, physically trained, and willing. This operation will see to the possible annihilation of this entire team, but as long as the objective is achieved, they will make their marks on history.

The leader, a tattooed monster of a man named Bane Skyler- spoke to his brothers and sisters, "Black Claws. State your mission."

"Team 1, Huntsmen's memorial, target: Ironwood."

"Team 2, target: Jacques Schnee."

"Team 3, target: Winter Schnee."

"Team 4, target: Weiss Schnee."

"Team 5, target: Willow Schnee."

"Team 6, target: Whitley Schnee."

The leader nodded, satisfied the men knew what they were doing. They had spoken with fire and zeal. He stated their ultimate objective one final time.

"For the liberation of all Faunus kind. The White Fang has entrusted our unit, the Black Claws, will take the head of General James Ironwood and erase the entire Schnee family from history."

He did an about-face to look in the eyes of his men for possibly the last time. Bane reached into his pocket and pulled out a capsule. The men did likewise, mirroring his motions with precision. They will require this for the upcoming climb up to Atlas itself.

Yet, Bane paused, hesitation gripping him for a moment's notice as he eyed the black pill.

It radiated with unholy energies.

He swallowed it, and everyone followed suit.

The effect was immediate.

Their skin turned deathly pale and their body temperature dropped. Blood turned black with corruption and eyes reddened as delicate blood vessels popped and burst.

Then, the entire unit as one donned on their Grimm masks.

From that point onward, they ceased to be men and women.

From that point onward, they became the beasts that hunted men.

* * *

A limousine of the purest white cruised upon the highway, their path cleared of all traffic. The law enforcement of Atlas made sure that their journey was smooth and fast, at the expense of other drivers now directed to the side of the road, consigning them to hours of terrible traffic.

It was starting to snow heavily again. Weiss Schnee noticed the ever-present snowfall intensify as the car journey went on. She, like her mother, had been looking outside of the window for the entire journey, unwilling to meet the eyes of the men that sat directly opposite them.

The streets were empty, only illuminated by the cold monochrome lights of the Kingdom. It was only when the majority of Atlas's security bots were decommissioned, did Weiss notice how hollow and artificial everything was. In a few hours, the memorial event will start, marking the second anniversary of The Fall of Beacon.

…and two years since she lost _her._

Two years...two long years had passed since that fateful day in Amity Arena, and two years since she had seen her team, nor even heard of their fates.

Weiss realized that she was gripping her hands so hard until her knuckles had turned white. She slowed down her breathing, forcing deep breaths in an attempt to stifle her beating heart. She could feel the cold sweat that started to gather on her forehead.

Yang, Blake, and Ruby...oh dear Ruby. How she missed them so.

"Do not smile, Whitley," Jacques admonished, "it is inappropriate for such an occasion."

"Yes father," Whitley tilted his head in apology, the smile on his face restrained slightly, "of course."

It was a command that was impossible to achieve, Weiss thought, her brother always looked like he had a snide smile permanently plastered on his face. At the same time, she was thankful for being interrupted from her thoughts.

Weiss was not as good at hiding her emotions as she used to be. Not ever since she had a taste of what it meant to freely express herself. Her emotions must have shown.

"Do try to be considerate for your sister," Jacques sighed as he eyed Weiss warily, "it is a special day for her."

"Of course." Whitley said and turned graciously towards Weiss, "I do apologize, dear sister. I did not intend any _offense_."

Sure. Weiss thought. She could see the glint in his eyes. She could sense his twisted satisfaction as clearly as she could sense Grimm.

It was hard to believe this man was related to her at all, much less her younger brother. Ever since her return, battered and bruised from the injuries she had sustained, while combating Grimm, Whitley had been cold to her. His attempts at talking to her usually ended up with snide remarks filled with barely concealed hostility was only held back by civil manners, a demeanour held with minimal effort.

He didn't need to say it, but she knew he never did forgive her for leaving Atlas.

In opposition, much to her surprise. Her father had mellowed out dramatically. Even now she could only read genuine wariness on her father's side. An oddity, in her experience. His usual condescending tone was absent. His gaze, slightly softer. Perhaps he is tired. Weiss would not know. The man was a mystery to her at the best of times, and Weiss did the best she could to avoid the man.

Weiss cast a glance at her mother, who was, as usual, unresponsive and aloof.

The matriarch stared out of the window, her gaze entirely focused on the passing scenery outside. Utterly detached from the happenings inside the family...as she had been for the nineteen odd years of Weiss's life.

Weiss understood her absence and didn't blame her at all. Although she still laments the lack of any meaningful interaction with her own mother.

Perhaps that is why she herself was so close to Winter.

As the car slowed to a stop, the driver got out and opened the door.

Hundreds of cameras flashed as the journalists and paparazzi lay in wait. A team carrying umbrellas stood waiting, deploying immediately to receive the Schnee family and to block out the flashing camera.

Up ahead, soldiers stood at attention, ramrod straight. Weiss felt a smile curl onto her lips for the first time of the day as she spotted Winter leading the ranks of men in ceremonial dress uniforms. Winter, to her credit, did not even cast a glance their way, fully at attention as required. They stood in the falling snow, uncovered from the elements, their white greatcoats billowing proudly in the frigid winds.

Not for the first time, Weiss was stuck at how regal her older sister looked.

General Ironwood stood at the head of the rank and file. Behind him, illuminating his statuesque figure, a fire burned brightly in the centre of a large bronze snowflake - The Eternal flame. Below the flame, illuminated by the fires, are the inscriptions, "Through Passing, Immortality. Through Immortality, Virtue. Through Virtue, Glory."

"Let's get this over and done with," Whitley muttered, and strode forwards, ignoring the scowl that appeared on Weiss's face.

By the Brothers, she hated him.

* * *

Winter Schnee stilled the pounding in her chest. Her iron discipline clamped down on the sense of unease immediately, extending into her physically and mentally. Soon she felt the edges of uncertainty bleed away. But try as she might, she could not completely eradicate the gnawing sensation of vulnerability.

It couldn't be nervousness, no. This wasn't the first time Winter was part of the ceremony or grand parade. After all, she was a Schnee. While Winter would like to think she was chosen because of her merits, she was also aware that assigning her here was also a gesture towards her family.

But tonight, Winter found herself oddly on edge and without a reason. There was an electric buzz in the air, and Winter could almost feel it course through her body. Perhaps it was the security measures, or lack thereof.

Winter had been briefed on the security measures in place, and while it was glaringly inadequate in her eyes, Ironwood had started to lean more and more towards the "hearts and minds" doctrine. An entire year of martial law and a riot to show for it, it was certainly another approach. As a certain headmaster once said, all the security measures and hardware in place only made the population uneasy. Overt security had been dismantled in the place of covert snipers and casually clothed agents that were unseen.

However, Winter cannot help but feel that something is off.

It doesn't matter now. Quickly banishing the thought, Winter sent a hand signal to the others.

The ceremony was about to start.

* * *

Hidden in the shadows, concealed by the thickening layers of snow, two figures lay prone -still as a statue- from their vantage point overlooking the memorial. The snipers of the Black Claws lay in wait, waiting for the signal that would turn the site into a massacre.

To the thermal drones flying overhead, the pair were all but invisible. Hot living blood had been corrupted and frozen into black ice that now ran through their veins to through their blackened hearts.

They did not need to move. They did not need to sleep.

They were the perfect hunters.

The Atlesians have gotten complacent. Security was lax and inexperienced. In the past, Atlesian Knights and other forms of artificial intelligence would have bolstered security. To prevent another massacre and cybersecurity breach, all forms of militarized artificial intelligence had been decommissioned.

That would now put them on the same training level as the other kingdoms. In the past, wars were not fought against each other, but against the Grimm. Humanity, divided as it is, will still stand together in the face of a common enemy.

Times have changed.

Beacon was gone. Remnant as the world knows it has been teetering on the brink. If there was a time for change, it is now.

"By I. 2 Alpha."

"Contact."

"Staircase, 2 o'clock. Approximately 10 mils."

"Contact."

"Go to glass."

Bai Bones gently shifted aim. his spotter -Emert Steele- panned his range finder around, in search of other targets.

"Ironwood, ID'ed. Leading march, ahead of two soldiers."

They watched as the civilians milled into place, a loose formation with Ironwood at the front.

"Check parallax and mil," Steele said, already sure they are looking at the same target.

Bones adjusted his scope, crisping up the image of Ironwood and canting his scope.

"1.63." Bones reported.

Steele double-checked on his range finger, "Yep. About a 1.6"

"We have a few minutes window now. Even if we miss this chance, he will still have a speech after the moment of silence." Steele said, his voice low.

"Hmmm," Bones muttered, "rather have a stationary target. Winds are picking up."

"I think I see the Schnees. At the front of the crowd. Four of them, white hair. Two O'clock, 5 meters from the General."

"There should be five."

"Other one is military. Probably in the crowd. Look for the hair."

"They are all white, dammit."

Bones panned his scope in search for the target, and soon he laid eyes on the back of four heads. Two males, two females.

"Shorter woman, braided hair, possible ID on target Willow." Bones muttered, "If that is her, then it is safe to assume the rest of the family is there."

"Make sure you don't miss."

Bones snorted at the impossibility of the comment.

He sighted back to each Schnee's skull and started to slow his breathing. All those months of training were for this mission, this moment. Bones especially.

His lips curled in disgust. These bastards were holding a memorial for the Fall of Beacon. Where was the memorial for the hundreds dead in Mantle? Where were the monuments built for that unspoken stain on Atlas history?

But he remembered.

He will always remember.

"For my family," he whispered under his breath.

* * *

At the stroke of midnight, the ceremony started.

The marching band started their sombre tune.

As one, the soldiers of Atlas marched forwards, weapons in hand and heads held high. The honour guards of the Huntsman's memorial, marched in formation, leading the General and the elected council members towards the Eternal flame. The leading soldier led with a salute, while the two other honour guards trailed behind, a large floral wreath in their hands.

Among the guests, the entire Schnee family was present. They strode forwards with the General leading, although with none of his precision and timing. Several guests carried flowers in their hands, as did Weiss. The rest of her family paid no such respect.

It was a slow march to the Eternal Flame.

Every step Weiss took, she felt her heart get heavier and heavier.

In that brief moment, she saw her team. They were still smiling, their eyes full of determination and hope.

By the next step, she saw the rest of her friends. That tight-knit group of brothers and sisters with bonds forged in fire.

She saw the final time they sat together at a table, their sincere smiles forever burned into her memory.

….and now she was all alone.

It was the same last year. Upon nearing the flame, her vision had blurred with tears. Her lips trembled but she swallowed down any attempts her body made at making her sob. The pain still hasn't faded.

A hand grabs her own, and she looks up in surprise to see that it was her mother. Despite the strict expression she wore, the contact was gentle and comforting.

It was in times as rare as this, did Weiss only remember that her mother still cared. Weiss squeezed her mother's hand lightly, continued on forwards.

When the honour guard reached the Eternal flame, they marched smartly in a circle to present the floral wreath, and upon command, set themselves in front of the inscriptions. They held the floral wreath, chin high and proud as the harsh weather assaulted them. General Ironwood stopped his advance, and so did the rest of the crowd.

They stood there as the military band stopped playing. Soon, it was just silence, save for the howling wind.

From here onwards, Weiss knew how it usually went. They will stand in silence, in respect for the Huntsmen fallen in the line of duty. They will stand there until an unseen signal was given and the General will turn to address those gathered. Then they will line up to present their flowers in front of the inscriptions, paying their respects to the dead.

That was how it usually went.

But not tonight.

There was a resounding clang, and Ironwood was sent falling onto his back. At the same time, something warm and wet splattered across her face.

Weiss's head snapped up, and she instinctively reached for her waist, only to grasp at a weapon that was not there. She's just heard a sound that she hadn't heard in years. Not since the fall of Beacon.

The snap crack of a sniper rifle. Crack bang! Crack bang!

She turned to her family, a warning half-formed in her mouth when she stopped. Jacques Schnee turned around to look at his daughter, blinking in confusion. Weiss recoiled in terror at the sight.

Half of her father's face was missing. Destroyed sinew, tendons, and shattered bone were full view, steaming into the cold night air.

The blood came, at first a slow thick trickle, then a constant stream.

"Father!" Weiss screamed, as Jacques staggered drunkenly forward, then fell face-first into the snow.

With her scream, the spell was broken.

And everything went to hell.

* * *

"Ironwood and Jacques are down," Steele reported, "Good hit, good hit."

Pandemonium erupted beneath them. Cries and screams of horror and confusion echoed into the night air, and soon the bodies of the two targets were lost among the scrambling crowd. Then immediately, gunfire cracked above the howls of terror.

Their radio channel burst to life as the teams stormed into the memorial, guns blazing indiscriminately into the panicking crowd. Unarmed civilians and responding soldiers were scythed down in the wall of lead.

"Team 1 moving in to confirm the kill."

"Team 2 covering Team 1."

"Team 3, 4, and 5, proceeding with mission."

Bones smiled. They were good. The Black Claws knew the Atlesian soldiers wouldn't risk shooting at into the civilian crowd, and used this to their advantage.

Responding soldiers were pinpointed and gunned down. Bones and Steele provided overwatch for the entire situation, calling out potential threats and eliminating anything that might harm their team.

"Weiss in sight," Steele muttered, "the Schnees are heading for their car."

"I can clip Willow's leg, I want to watch the little whore panic."

"Bones. Just go for the kill shot. Bones!"

But Bones didn't listen. In that moment, he was back in Mantle all those years ago.

The blood of his mother staining his hands as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding. The loud gunshots from the Atlesian Knights as they advanced mercilessly though the slums, a trail of unmoving protestors and rioters in their wake. The screams of the civilians down below suddenly amplified in his head, deafening and surreal.

Blood demanded blood. This is not massacre, but revenge and justice.

Bones sighted, ignoring the protests of his comrade, and fired.

* * *

Winter Schnee elbowed her way past the screaming crowd and into the gunfire. Cold fury gripped her heart at the sight of the slaughter. This was her failure, the result of her complacency.

"You two, with me!" Winter bellowed at the two closest men.

She had seen the General go down, and when the panic started, she had lost sight of her family. Drawing out her sabre –a weapon for both ceremonial and combat purposes- she stormed forwards.

"Take them!" Winter snarled.

Finally, the soldiers of Atlas began returning fire, pinning the Black Claw down as she launched herself ahead with her glyphs.

Muzzle flashes gave away the positions of the attackers, and Winter had no doubt in her mind of the identity of these men. The snarling Grimm masks that caught the light of the muzzle flashes confirmed her suspicions.

Winter allowed instinct to guide her blade. She swung her sword and deflected a stray shot, then knocked aside the immediate follow-up bullet.

She killed the speed glyph with a thought, then with her arms outstretched, the top half of a roaring white Ursa materialized.

Automatic fire chattered, and the Black Claws focused their fire on the glowing white Grimm speeding towards them. Their combined fired shredded the conjuration, yet somehow it refused to disappear.

Then, Winter was among them. Had she not been blinded by anger she would have hesitated at the inhuman tones of their skin.

Casting aside her Ursa meat shield, Winter slashed downwards, a fletching motion she had perfected over long years of continuous practice. The blade whipped the first man in the skull, stunning and breaking through his Aura. To his credit, he recovered quickly and brought his gun up to bear.

But Winter was too close. The follow-up strike hacked open his chest.

Black ichor, thick as oil, hissed and burned from the open wound. The Claws, undeterred, swept his buttstock up at his adversary's chin. Winter leaned back slightly and pirouetted back around in a decapitating strike.

She twisted behind the headless body –one hand gripping its collar- and drove herself forwards, using the dead terrorist as a shield. The body juddered as bullets buried themselves into its flesh. Puffs of cold black fluid sprayed into Winter's face. Bullet fragments, flattened and deformed, tumbled through the ruined flesh and bounced off her Aura.

Winter hurled the body away, sending it crashing into a Claw as she hammered her sword's pommel into the teeth of another.

The man staggered back, cursing. His teeth cracked, his lips bleeding, the Black Claws raised his rifle and-

There was no rifle. It was in Winter's hands.

Winter blew the terrorist back with a single burst of fire. She swung her sword back, her arm close her body, the rifle handguard on the crook of her elbow, and shot the other terrorist knocked down by the headless corpse.

Two shots struck her in the back, knocking the wind out of her and sending her tumbling into the snow. Winter rolled, twisting her body as she got up, and fired.

The rifle clicked empty.

"Bastard!" She growled, ducking back and tossing the useless firearm away.

Someone barreled into her from the side, cold steel flashing. Winter had only a moment to react when she saw a flash of a sword. Winter parried, once, twice. The man backed away, drawing out his rifle when he realized their difference in swordsmanship. She spun in low, slashing her sword across and taking the Claw by the knee. The man dropped back, cursing.

Glyphs formed around Winter's feet, and with a snarl, she barked a command. Beowolves of the purest white materialized from thin air, their fangs bared and snarling. They ripped into the prone Claw, and Winter ignored the inhuman cries as she sheathed her sword. She swept up Claw's fallen rifle and sighted down the weapon. She moved forwards, shooting as she trudged through the now red snow.

The first shot took a Claw by the chest, then the rest stitched up into his mask. It shattered along with his aura as the magazine clicked empty. With a final burst of glyph-enhanced speed, she closed the distance.

The stock of the weapon broke the man's nose with a satisfying crack, and dropped the man like a sack of stones. She tossed the spent rifle away, and wrestled the Claw's rifle out of his iron grip as he struggled to get up.

The firearm discharged, dangerously close to her face. Her hearing temporarily gave out, and she could hear nothing but a constant ring that dulled the sounds of combat.

Winter twisted and cracked the tip of her boot into the man's temple, and only then did the Claw relinquish his grip. Twisting the firearm around, she put bullets into the man's head, making sure she saw the head deform and explode before she moved on.

The soldiers were reacting, now that the majority of the civilians have either cleared away from the immediate area or lying on the ground. Gunfire was exchanged from both sides, but it was easy to tell that the Atlas soldiers lacked ammunition.

Then, she heard a voice that made her blood run cold.

"Mother!" Weiss shrieked.

* * *

Willow was dead. Still breathing, but dead anyway.

Weiss knew this, but refused to process it. They had been running to get to the car, and while Weiss would have been there infinitely faster, she could not leave Whitley and Willow behind.

When her brother screamed, she knew something bad had happened.

Her mother had fallen, leaving dark red streaks in the snow where her leg had been blown away. Her eyes were wide open as her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Weiss knew she was going into shock, and that did not kill, the blood loss will.

"Mother, no! Please!" Someone screamed. Weiss looked around, at the chaos, at the screaming men and women scrabbling for safety. It took her a second to process that she had screamed those words.

Whitley was on the ground, shaking Willow, pleading and begging their mother to get up. His pristine white and blue suit was stained in dark red, and his immaculately styled hair was now messy and unkempt. He had never looked so helpless.

"Weiss!" Whitley finally yelled, "Help her, please!"

Weiss knew there was nothing she could do. But-

Her instincts screamed, and her adrenaline spiked.

_Threat._

Her Aura reacted instantaneously as years of training kicked in. Weiss dived in front of Whitley, and her glyphs roared to life.

Bullets sparked and ricocheted off the glowing white barrier, illuminating the night with its bright spectral glow.

"Whitley!" She yelled, "Run!"

Her brother looked up at her, dazed and confused. His eyes were wide and he was shaking in fear.

"Get up, damn you!" Weiss spat, "Or we are all dead!"

But Whitley was pointing behind her.

"Hello, princess."

The roar of a chainsaw made her blood turn to ice. Weiss jumped back as her protective glyph was demolished in a single powerful blow, shattering to glowing pieces before dissipating into the night.

Standing in front of her, Lieutenant Bane Skylar laughed, "You and I have some unfinished business."

Before Weiss could process what he said, she weaved back, narrowly avoiding the screaming chainsaw. She flipped and twirled, elusive like a butterfly in the storm, muscle memory and desperation reawakening all of her training.

But Myternaster was not at her side.

There was no way for her to-

No. There was one.

Weiss sank to one knee, sliding back. She scowled in concentration as she let her semblance manifest. Bane roared in triumph as he mistook her concentration for a misstep.

He lunged forwards, his weapon howling, thirsty for blood.

There was a thunderous crash, and Weiss winced at the shrieking scream of metal on metal. She opened her eyes and grinned.

Arma Gigas clawed and dug itself out of her glyphs and into reality, a great sword blocking the shrieking chain weapon mere inches from her face.

Her summon wore the old armor of the old Mantle knights, and it was a lot larger than Weiss had remembered. It towering over her brutish opponent when it finally drew itself to its full height, and Weiss almost laughed at the comical shock her opponent displayed.

With a single thought command, Weiss sent Arma Gigas storming forth. Her spectral knight's visor split at the jaw in parody of a mouth, and it bellowed. The sound was guttural and inhuman, and the vibrations took Weiss to the bone.

Bane leapt back, slipping in the snow as a glowing greatsword almost took his head. He rolled back, drawing out a pistol and fired shot after shot at this new threat. Full metal-jacketed ammunition punched holes into armor, leaving wisps of blue smoke trailing in its wake.

Bullets pinged and ricocheted off Arma Gigas, as more Black Claw appeared, focusing their fire on this new threat like a well oiled machine.

Arma Gigas battered aside an enemy, and split another in two with a single stroke of its heavy blade. Bane was already on his feet, howling in rage at the death of his brothers in arms.

Weiss turned to her brother, and yelled, "Now Whitley, follow me!"

* * *

Bane growled as he tossed aside his wrecked chainsaw. It sparked and sputtered, useless now that it had been battered to hell.

That little bitch was good, he will give her that much. Their little encounter on the train that breached Vale was still fresh in his mind. She wasn't able to summon creatures before, but such is the nature of evolving semblances.

He needed to keep his distance from that ghost knight, but he couldn't let his prey get away. Bane scrabbled back, firing his pistol at the giant armor. He might as well have been spitting at it.

The damn thing looked like cheese now with the amount of holes his men had put into it. Blue light bled through the holes like blood, and it screeched and bellowed like a Grimm monster with each hit it took. Yet it showed no signs of slowing down. It will kill and keep killing his men until the bitch Schnee ran out of Aura.

But how do you kill a hollow suit of armor?

"Bones!" he snarled into his radio, "Target the joints! We need to get a clear shot on the Schnees!"

"Copy"

* * *

Whitley was staring slacked-jawed and in awe but soon sprang to action at his sister's command. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed Weiss's hand, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. They were so close to the car, he could see the damned vehicle.

When this is over, he needed to apologize to Weiss, to make everything up to her. He could forgive her for abandoning him, he could forgive her for running away. Weiss protecting him from these animals was more than enough. Heck, she had been protecting them all when she was in Beacon. Why had he not seen this earlier? Please, Brothers, just let them survive.

He ignored the screams and cries of the men and women around him as he bolted. He gripped onto Weiss's hands for dear life, like he used to when he still a toddler.

Weiss had held his hands every time there was a thunderstorm, and he suddenly remembered why it had hurt so much when she flew away to Vale.

"Down!" Weiss pulled him into her embrace as something screamed overhead. Whitley watched in horror as the SDC limousine detonated in a fireball.

Something whistled by his ear, and he heard Weiss gasp in pain. Her Aura shimmered. She was now as vulnerable as he was.

Gunfire followed, kicking up the snow around them. Another guttural roar from the summoned knight, and the gunfire stopped, redirected somewhere else.

"Are you okay, Whitley?" Weiss asked, still in the snow.

Whitley's heart ached suddenly as she visibly winced. A piece of metal was embedded on the back of her hands, the hand she had wrapped around the top of his head when the car blew up. But then he realized she wasn't getting up either. He watched in horror the snow around his sister started turning red. A thick worm of blood dribbled down her face.

"Weiss? Weiss!"

"Whitley, you have to run. Please."

"Please, sister! Where are you hurt? You have to-"

Pain exploded in his body, and his world went white. He had never felt such intense agony, like someone had shoved a red hot piece of metal through his body. He heard Weiss scream his name. He collapsed, arms flailing as his lower body suddenly refused to obey his commands.

He tried to move his legs, to get up and run. To do anything.

But as he looked down at the blossoming red in his stomach, he realized he had been shot.

* * *

"Whitley…" Weiss couldn't even yell his name. Strength had suddenly left her. Her body was cold and numb. She did not even know where she had been shot.

Her brother was much more vocal. He was not struggling, kicking about in agony. His arms flailed as he clawed at the wound in his stomach. With the last of her strength, she crawled towards her struggling brother.

She pressed both hands to his wound, eliciting a howl of agony from the boy. She had already lost her parents, she'd be damned if her brother dies too.

"We need to keep the pressure there, I know it hurts, but please bear with me." Weiss's voice cracked, now barely a whisper, "I'm sorry, Whitley. I'm so sorry."

"My legs," he whimpered, "I can't move my legs."

His spine. They had hit his spine.

Rage bubbled within her stomach. Anger and wrath from her younger years that she had buried during her Beacon years emerged again like a roiling sea of hatred. She will not let these bastards take away another one of her family.

But her body refused to move, to get up and fight to the bitter end.

"Weiss?"

"Hush now," she did her best to smile. Her vision was blurring, "whatever you do, don't move."

With a final burst of strength, Weiss rolled on top of Whitley, shielding him with her body.

"Weiss, please." Whitley choked down, "Listen, dear sister. I'm sorry. I never –"

Weiss pressed her forehead against Whitley's and closed her eyes.

"I know. I'm sorry too." She whispered back, stroking his hair. "My, my. I've never noticed how tall you've gotten."

"Weiss…Weiss?"

* * *

Bane sank to his knees, his right arm completely severed from his body. He howled in agony as the pistol he used to kill Weiss Schnee was destroyed in a final vicious attack. He was going to die here, but that did not matter. He had completed the mission.

Arma Gigas turned, blade sweeping in a massive arc to decapitate the man.

Accurate high caliber bullets detonated against its gauntlet, and Arma Gigas bellowed its rage as his weapon disintegrated. Follow-up shots blew out a knee. It stumbled and crashed.

But Arma Gigas didn't stop. It crawled like a spider, crushing and hammering aside debris and Black Claw too slow to get out of the way. It reached its massive clawed gauntlets intend to crush the worm that dared to harm its master.

Bane closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

But death never came. He opened his eyes, to see Arma Gigas fade away, disintegrating along with the snow that swirled in the howling winter winds.

* * *

"Reloading," Bones announced, stopping to exchange a new magazine, "Think the little Schnees are dead."

"By the Brothers!" Steele swore. Bones slammed in a fresh round and looked quizzically at his spotter. The man was looking up, but only for a second. He returned his attention to the chaos below.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Fucking crow flew in front of my rangefinder."

"Huh," Bones shrugged, "didn't know crows flew this high up. Or this far north. "

"They don't." A voice growled behind them.

Bones snapped around, pistol already halfway drawn. But it wasn't fast enough. Not even close.

A sweeping scythe was the last thing he saw.

* * *

"Weiss! Whitley!" Winter screamed. She saw Weiss's summon disappear. That could only mean one thing.

She needed to get to the, to-

Winter ducked as a bullet snapped past her head, taking a lock of her hair with it. More enemies appeared, and Winter was forced to seek cover behind the stone statues of the memorial.

Bullets began to hit the stone, sending fragments and dust into the air. Winter shrank deeper into the meagre cover. They had a fix on her position.

She popped out, to snap a few shots, but was forced back in when the incoming rounds intensified. Winter looked around desperately, trying to find a way to relocate. She wished she had more than half a magazine left.

Panic started to creep into the edges of her consciousness. What happened to Weiss? What will happened to Whitley? She did not see father or mother, what happened to them?

Was she the only one left alive?

"Fuck!" She swore. Winter checked how many bullets she had left, and counted fourteen bullets before the rifle was turned into a useless club.

Fourteen shots. That was the measure of her life left if things kept up the way it was.

The incoming fire became heavier, and Winter could feel the statue shake and crumble under the intensity of the attacks. Winter risked another burst, and shrieked as a stone fragment tore into her arm.

Five shots left.

She gulped and drew out the ceremonial bayonet on her hip. Like the sabre, it was for ceremonial purposes, but sharpened nonetheless. With a clack, she fixed it upon the front of the near-empty rifle.

Taking in a deep breath, she reflected on herself, on what kind of person she had been. She thought of her regrets and realized that she only had one. Perhaps she should have been kinder to Weiss and Whitley, and showed more affection to them both in her younger days.

All she had wanted was for Weiss to become strong, and for Whitley to become independent. But in the end, it didn't matter. They were all going to die here.

Winter crushed those regrets to oblivion with a single thought.

She will not die cowering.

Glyphs formed beneath her.

"Hakkaa paalle!" She bellowed an echo of the old Mantle warrior's cry, "Cut them down!"

She charged, firing and emptying the magazine at the enemy. Her glyph barrier took the burn of the attack as her semblance propelled her across the snow, draining the final reservations of her Aura in a final suicidal attack.

Winter skewered a reeling man straight through the sternum, ramming him into the snow. Her ears rang as the man's rifle barked in his death spasm. She ripped the bayonet from the gurgling corpse, screaming her fury at the top of her lungs, and plunged down again, piercing his heart. She tore the rifle out of the body, and twisted around, batting aside the second man's firearm aside before lunging forwards in a textbook bayonet thrust straight into his exposed neck.

Winter's felt her body jolt once, twice. Bullets kicked up the snow around her. Those bastards knew their two friends were dead and acted accordingly.

Just one more, just one more, Winter thought. Just let me kill one more.

The enemy positions exploded. Bullets and missiles rained into their positions throwing Black Claw soldiers into the air like broken dolls.

A Paladin walker stormed into view, heavy calibre machine guns blazing. Behind the armoured walker, squads of soldiers appeared, bearing the insignia of the Atlas Ace Ops. They began firing as soon as they had a visual on the enemy.

Winter threw herself onto the ground to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Tracers screamed overhead and Dust weapons lit up the night.

She could suddenly see everything with perfect clarity. The blood in the snow twinkled like stars in the fiery night. Beams of multi-coloured light from Dust weapons entranced her as she witnessed falling snow turned into vapour within close proximity. A rocket passed, and she watched in fascination as it left billows of twirling smoke in its wake.

Everything seemed...

...to slow...

...down...

Her legs suddenly felt weak, and she found that she could not stand up.

Strong hands rolled her over, and Winter saw familiar blood-red eyes. Eyes that were so usually carefree were now filled with anger and worry. The gaunt disheveled man was the last person she expected to see here.

"Qrow?" Her own voice seemed dull and distant.

"Thank the Brothers you are still alive," he breathed, his gruff and husky voice sounded like he was underwater. With a jerk, he tossed her rifle sideways and pulled her into an embrace.

Then, as if shocked, he pulled back.

"Oh no. Please no."

"What are you on about?"

The older man pulled her closer, his arms shaking. He pressed a hand into her chest, "Just, keep pressure on it. Help is on the way."

"W-wha?"

It was only then she realized she had been shot. Red blossomed on her uniform, shockingly contrasted with her white uniform. It seemed only then did Winter's brain process the full extent of the damage.

"Well, this is….annoying," Winter mumbled as she leaned into Qrow, suddenly uncaring for whatever will happen. Qrow pulled her closer into his chest, and Winter sighed as her vision began to fade.

She wanted to ask if Weiss and Whitley are alright if they are unharmed. But the thought slipped through the mental grasps as her vision darkened.

For some odd reason, she knew that everything would be okay.


	2. The Traitor

**The Traitor  
**

_Present Day  
_ _Kuo Kuana, Menagerie_

Ever since the Fall of Beacon, times were uncertain for the faunus.

The brazen attack on Beacon had seen millions of faunus driven out of Vale and across Remnant, hatred and suspicion reignited as decades of social progress burned alongside Beacon Academy.

The White Fang, A once united front, protesting against discrimination and oppression had gradually shifted to a full-blown terror group.

As is the fate of such groups, it was bound to devolve into splinter groups and infighting once a major figurehead falls. Ghira Belladonna had been that figurehead. The assassinations of the Belladonnas had caused a ripple through the faunus world, and like maggots in a corpse, factions formed and festered.

The power vacuum left in such events allows the ruthless and the ambitious flourish while the young, the dumb, and the naïve followed like Creeps off a cliff. Before they knew it, they were fighting each other as much as they were fighting the humans.

Traitors and fools, all, Ilia Amitola mused. She grimaced at the thought almost immediately. Then, what did that make her? Didn't she call for the head of Ghira Belladonna before Blake came back to Menagerie? Wasn't it her conviction to the cause that drove her to participate in coup d'état?

"Ilia? Are you alright? You aren't sick, are you?" Dandee asked, between mouthfuls of her meal, "You hardly touched your food. "

Ilia cast a side-glance the dog faunus beside her, then back down at the half congealed gloop that passed for dinner. "Just not very hungry."

"Then…may I?"

Ilia shoved her tray towards her comrade in arms, deliberately looking away.

"It's not that bad," Dandee scoffed, mistaking her actions for disgust, "you aren't sick, are you?"

Ilia hummed, "Maybe." She stood up, feigning dizziness, "I think I'll go for a walk."

In truth, she just could not look Dandee in the eye. After all, it was hard to look someone in the eye when you know it is most likely going to be their last day alive, especially when you are leading them to their demise in a few hours time.

But her squad were hardline White Fang, proudly part of the Albian brothers faction. No amount of persuasion could sway their conviction and loyalty.

Just like Ilia years ago, they had been charmed by Adam Taurus's rhetoric, firming believing their brand of retribution was justified. When Adam renounced Sienna Khan and defected to the Albian brothers, their squad had followed, alongside many others.

"Take care, Ilia. I'll get you some meds if you aren't feeling better."

"Thanks, Dee." Ilia squeezed Dandee's shoulders, and took off, desperately trying and failing to ignore the beaming smile of her squadmate.

* * *

The streets of Kuo Kuana were still busy despite the time of day. However, the atmosphere was a far cry from what it was 7 years ago. When the Belladonnas still governed the settlement, one would almost mistake the place for a holiday town in the Southern Valean regions. People smiled at each other more, and there was a sense of normality despite the circumstances the faunus faced.

Now, people kept to themselves. Their eyes averted and locked to the ground as they went about their lives. Where once the markets sold daily foodstuff, livestock, and other wares, the now peddled arms, munitions, and even slaves from their off-island raids. Ilia ignored the chained humans in cages and ignored the armed White Fang patrol in the streets. The old Ilia would have rejoiced to witness her brand of justice being wrought onto their perceived oppressors.

But now, Ilia only felt sick.

Life carried on, businesses still ran, and the sun still rose in the morning.

This was not the Menagerie Ilia had fought for.

Blake had been right, if only she could…

No, now is not the time _._ Ilia chastised herself tried to steady her heart. She had started on this path years ago, from the moment Blake planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. But only when she gathered the courage to reach out to "outside forces", was she truly committed to her path. Whether this path was that of righteousness or treachery remains to be seen.

The night air was cool and damp, an earthy fresh smell hung thick in the air. Thunder rolled in the distance, out beyond the jungle.

Ilia's skin shifted colours to the pitch black of the nighttime jungle. She crept out of the settlement, unseen and unheard. She was a shadow in the night, an illusion a mind conjures to fill the darkness, her experience as a sabotage operative coupled with her natural talents made her naught but a shadow flickering on the edges of any prying eyes.

The winds howled, and she moved, her footsteps barely a whisper among the loud insects that sang their tune into the darkness. She skirted wide around the run-down wooden houses of the settlement's edge. Then, she doubled back just to make sure she isn't followed.

Ilia checked the time and approached the designated house. It used to be a farmhouse, owned by one of the few humans that immigrated and settled in Menagerie when she was but a toddler. He was been dragged out and shot along with the rest of his family after the Albain brothers took power. They didn't even spare the children.

Now it stands abandoned, rotting, and forgotten by the populace.

Ilia checked the main door, grimacing at the crude graffiti vandalizing every surface. It was unlocked.

Drawing out her sword, Lightning Lash, she edged in.

The darkness of the interior was oppressive. There was an intense smell of dust. Rats scurried.

Ilia swept up the hallway, checking each room cautiously. The place was deserted. Chairs and tables were overturned. The wall sported graffiti and the floor was littered with junk. A picture frame caught her eye. A family photo of the now-deceased owner and his family, smiling brightly on the beaches of this once beautiful island.

How did it all go so wrong?

She heard a faint noise, upstairs.

Ilia hesitated. "H-hello?" She hissed, as loudly as she dared.

Suddenly, an arm locked about her body, pinning her weapon. She felt cold steel kiss her throat.

"Say it now, and say it right." a soft whisper in her ears.

"M-Myternaster." She choked back.

"Drop the weapon."

Ilia let the sword go but never heard it clatter to the ground.

The grip released.

Ilia turned around, only now her body started to tremble. Fear and terror bubbled within her chest.

A figure stood in front of her, wiry and lean. A black balaclava obscured the face, and Ilia saw her own wide eyes reflected off the large bulky night vision goggles that glowed a dim red.

She made to speak but froze as she felt a muzzle of a weapon rest against the back of her neck.

"Do you have a name?" The figure whispered. It was a man's voice.

"I-Ilia Amitola. White Fang infiltration specialist."

The man nodded, "I am Lie Ren. Russel, she's cleared."

The pressure of the gun went away, as did the wave of fear she felt.

Ilia glanced back to see another similarly dressed man, his features similarly obscured. Somehow, she knew the man was smiling beneath his mask. Her Lightning Lash dangled from his belt as if it belonged to him.

How did they manage to sneak up on her without her noticing? Indignity suddenly flushed her face. She was a competent operative, and yet she must have looked like a bumbling recruit in front of these people. Her skin must have shifted colours because the man called Russel snorted.

The analytical part of her mind raced, and she deduced that one of these two had some sort of fear semblance.

"What the hell are you people?" Ilia hissed.

The man called Lie Ren didn't answer, but gestured to follow.

They led Ilia upstairs into the master bedroom.

In the darkness, a shadow loomed forwards, distinctly female. She flipped her night-vision goggles up to look Ilia in the eyes.

They were as cold and harsh as the Atlesian weather. Beautiful too, Ilia thought, were they not radiating with killing intent.

The woman looked Ilia up and down. Like the men around her, she was similarly lean and dressed in full black fatigues. An assault rifle was strapped across her chest in a combat rig, and Ilia spied a soot-dulled sword on her hips.

"Are you Mirror?" Ilia asked.

Ilia froze as the man named Ren leaned in close into her ear, "Don't talk until instructed."

She frowned but nodded hesitantly. These people already rubbed her the wrong way.

"Tell her what you told me."

"Myternaster."

"Tell her your name."

"Ilia Amitola, White Fang Infiltration specialist."

"And address her as ma'am."

"Ma'am." Ilia said almost droning like an Atlesian knight.

The woman nodded once and slid off her balaclava. Ilia took a sharp breath as snow-white hair tumbled free from the confines of the face mask. There were only a handful of people in Remnant with such a distinct genetic trait, but there was only one that was a military Huntsman.

"Specialist," the woman greeted, "Yes, I am Mirror. But you may know me as Winter Schnee."

Ilia nodded, suddenly wishing she still had her weapon. Had she just willingly given herself up for execution? "Every White Fang knows."

Winter smiled, yet Ilia could only imagine a Beowolf's predatory grin, "As they should."

Ilia looked away as ice ran through her veins. They Schnees were the primary targets for the White Fang attack in Atlas 5 years ago. However, not only did they fail to kill Winter…they made a very dangerous individual also very motivated.

"Now, Ilia Amitola," Winter's ice-cold eyes bore into Ilia's very soul, "I believe you have something to tell us."

* * *

Qrow had tipped off Atlas intelligence on a potentially significant asset held by the White Fang. Only Qrow knows the nature of the asset, but it was significant enough to risk a deep strike into White Fang territory.

They met their contact, a White Fang defector by the name of Ilia Amitola. The intel checked out, and the operation was green-lit.

There was no moon tonight. Thunderclouds gathered overhead, obscuring the skies. Occasional bolts of lightning split the air as the rain poured into the jungle below. Underneath the pitter-patter of the rain, wildlife croaked and chirped in the trees, in the grass. Their melody and the constant drumming beats of rain masked the soft footfalls of four figures prowling in the night.

"Team 1 approaching the compound from the southwest, 50 meters."

"Copy, team 2 approaching from the east. 100 meters"

The compound was well hidden in the jungle, far away from prying eyes and from the pockets of civilizations scattered around Menagerie. White Fang sentries laughed and joked as they chatted away from their posts. Good spirits and high morale meant the absence of Grimm…which also meant poor awareness and security.

Winter sighted her rifle on the first target, night vision painting her world in dull red light. She clicked over to thermals, then back again to check for other targets. Besides her, the other member of Team 1 mirrored her actions.

Two sentries stood smoking outside the perimeter wall, huddled under a nearby tree. Their rifles were slung back and their White Fang masks around their necks. They were patrolling the area but had obviously abandoned their patrol patterns once the rain started. They were young and undisciplined, which made it more of a pity.

"I got left." She whispered.

"I got right," Lie Ren replied.

A crack of thunder, and two bodies dropped simultaneously.

50 meters out, Cardin Winchester and Russel Thrush dispatch two other soldiers, ramming their blades into the base of their skulls and severing the spine.

Blood washed away in the torrent of rain, into the red mud of Menagerie.

"Team 2 moving in," Cardin hissed into his earpiece.

Winter's voice crackled back. "Copy. Let's do this."

As she has done for the past 5 years, Winter will sink her blades into the throat of the White Fang.

* * *

Almost to the second, Ilia and her team got the call. An emergency deployment.

Facility 103 had failed to check-in. That could only mean one thing.

Winter and her team had broken through into the black site.

They could not risk mobilizing large forces without provoking an already fragile situation between the various factions. The Albian brothers will not risk and open conflict against Sienna Khan. The solution was to send in an elite team of Huntsmen to deal with the problem.

The mission was simple. Go in, and eliminate the threat.

The elevator hummed as Squad INDG descended into the underground. The lights flickered painfully over their heads. Ilia Amitola squinted as her eyes ached and burned. Thirty minutes of scouting forwards into the dark compound only to be immediately trapped in this lightbox was less than ideal. Then again, this entire situation was less than ideal.

This was her proof of loyalty, after all. Just as she had cut the throats of several humans to prove her allegiance to the White Fang. Only this time, she felt like vomiting.

Raindrops dripped off her clothes and pattered gently into an ever-growing pool of rainwater by her feet.

"Who do you think it is?" Dandee asked, checking her rifle for the umpteenth time. She was nervous, as she always was prior to an engagement. Her white dog ears twitched as if irritated, flicking off beads of water.

Gran narrowed his feline eyes as his lips curled in distaste, "Doesn't look like huntsmen. No style, came in quiet."

Nick snorted, baring his fangs "They must be very good then. Our boys got wiped up top."

"Then be quiet and stay on alert," Ilia snapped, her ire rising. She knew she was leading her team into a trap. She knew they were not going to survive, not after what she had witnessed up top. Maybe they could put up a decent fight, but at that point it still would not do her conscience any good.

All of a sudden, she wasn't so sure Winter is going to stick with her end of the bargain.

They were good. Ilia knew that their movements and gunshots were concealed by the torrent of rain. They had picked off sentries and other security members off one by one. No alarm was sounded, else a team would have been sent in much earlier.

It was a bold move, to attack the White Fang in the middle of their own territory, and an even bolder- or dumber- move to pick their operation time in the dead of night. Not all faunus possess night vision, and even those that do have varying degrees of clarity. But that is still a significant amount more the humans, who become all but blind in the darkness. It was a tactical and one of the many biological advantages the faunus possessed over humans, and something which Ilia herself had exploited on multiple occasions.

But that very fact might have led to complacency, and Winter exploited it to its full extent.

Just like how the White Fang exploited Atlas's complacency 5 years ago.

"A lot of our brothers and sisters died this day," Ilia her words hollow to her ears, but she pressed on, "be it human or traitor, we must get our revenge."

The others grunted in agreement, perhaps too focused to sense the shakiness in her voice.

The elevator juddered as it began to slow.

"Aura up," Ilia announced, her Lightning Lash snarled with crackling energy as she extended the blade, "Stay alert, stay alive."

For as long as you can, she mentally pleaded.

* * *

Winter's team had carved through an entire platoon of White Fang for this "package". The initial impression of the White Fang outpost was shattered when they went underground

Ilia was right. The facility up top was just a cover.

The entire floor had a sanitized look to it, white floors and pillars lined with rows and rows of desks, scientific equipment. The underground had concealed an entire floor that looked more in place for a laboratory or a hospital.

Of course, that was until they started shooting.

Corpses of the White Fang defenders littered the lab, across dirty red smears of blood streaked across the white surfaces.

Four figures loomed in the furthest room, their silhouettes illuminated by the dull ceiling light.

"Talk to me, Cardin." Ren held onto the injured man as the pair hobbled around, "Where are you hit?"

Cardin Winchester grumbled and growled, as if embarrassed. "My backside."

"How's he lookin'?" Russel hissed back, his eyes still fixed down the sights of his rifle and down the hallway they cut through, "Ren?"

"I'm still alive, dammit." Cardin growled back, "Man fuck that guy. Shot me in the ass!"

"Well we did try to shoot him first," Russel retorted as he sniggered.

"Quiet," Winter snapped, looking up from the hacked scroll. The code breaker has almost finished its work. Soon, they will be able to extract whatever "the package" is.

Winter glanced at the package in question. Whatever it is, it is locked away inside an intricate-looking pod that looked like it could fit Cardin. Cables and machinery connected to the pod, and it was still thrumming with energy and power.

If Winter had to guess, it had something to do with that Grimm substance the White Fang have been using to enhance certain individuals. Either that or they had just uncovered another relic. "Russel, keep covering the damn hallway!" Winter hissed.

Russel didn't reply, but he grunted an acknowledgment. They weren't in the clear yet.

Cardin had been hit, his Aura and armour having taken too many shots. The wounds were not fatal, but it hindered their operational effectiveness. The pain must be immense, despite where the man was shot.

"Ren, have you given him morphine?" Winter asked, her eyes not leaving the blinking blue screen of the scroll.

The man nodded, "Already given him a shot."

"I'm gonna be standing for the Bullhead ride back," Cardin growled through gritted teeth, "man, out of all the fucking places. That fucking faunus shithead-"

"Would have shot you in the balls if he had better aim," Russel finished for him, "You fuckin' idiot. Next time I'll be point man."

"Your scrawny ass can't take a single shot before breaking your Aura," The large man retorted.

"And your ass was large enough to be a big fat juicy target."

"Shut up, both of you." Ren snapped.

Cardin grumbled and hefted his rifle. He moved his legs experimentally, wincing at each movement, "Ren, gimme a cig?" Cardin asked.

Rolling his eyes Ren fished out his pack of cigarettes and held one up for Cardin. Cardin rolled up his face mask, leaned in, and bit onto the offered cigarette. He lit it using the heat of his still smoking barrel.

"Thanks," Cardin muttered. Smoke exhaled from his mouth and nose, and drifted into the still air.

"Transfer is complete," Winter announced, "Let's grab the damn thing before-"

"I hear something!" Russel hissed. "I think someone is coming down. Must be Ilia's kill team."

There was a distant chime. An elevator.

Winter and Ren's head snapped up. Winter hit the light switch and plunged themselves into darkness. Cardin stubbed out the freshly lit cigarette, briefly lamenting the loss.

The squad flipped down the singular tube on attached to their helmets.

There was a whine as thermal sight goggles powered up.

* * *

The White Fang kill team entered the research facility, their weapons raised. Dandee took point, her shotgun axe raised high and ready, her ears folded back with anticipation.

The smell of Dust and gunpowder assaulted their enhanced senses. Fine clouds of debris and pulverized concrete still hung in the air, illuminated by beams of flickering light. Bullet holes perforated the walls and black explosive marks were scorched permanently onto some areas. Glass and torn metal crackled underneath their boots as they advanced.

"Shit." Nick whispered.

Blood. The smell of blood hit them like a tidal wave, almost overwhelming in the enclosed environment. Ilia could hear Gran choke back a gag, but that, in turn, made her stomach twist with disgust.

White-clad Fang fighters lay in pools of their own blood and piss as their bowels loosened with death. Many of them had their heads blown out, and only a few sported blade wounds of some kind.

Ruthless. Professional.

Bloody footsteps led into the darkness ahead, only barely illuminated by sparks of electricity. Ilia's eyes could penetrate the darkness, but she still needed time to adjust.

"I'm scouting forwards. I'm taking the left side. Team, take the right." Ilia said, and before the others could mutter their affirmatives, Ilia was already on the move.

Her skin flickered and turned pitch black, blending seamlessly into the darkness.

"Goodbye. And I'm sorry."

* * *

Winter listened as boots crunched on shell casings and shattered glass.

She looked at Russel, who was crouched low on the floor. He had taken a peek from the ground and gestured back at her, fingers held up and signaling.

_3 X-Rays, Huntsmen. Friendly split off._

Winter gestured to Ren and Cardin.

_Backup Russel. Deploy ambush. Check your fire for friendlies. Cardin, with me._

Ren shifted to Russel's position and placed a hand on his back, ready to move and support.

Winter took a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat quicken slightly at the anticipation. The edges of adrenaline were already starting to creep into her senses, and ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice.

She looked at Ren and flashed a hand signal.

_Get ready._

Russel was crouched, ready to pouch, his rifle at the low ready position. Ren held his rifle with one hand, and he could sense Russel's muscles coiling like a loaded spring. He gave the man a squeeze on the shoulder.

They were both ready.

Winter smiled.

Those bastards were in for one hell of a surprise.

* * *

"You smell that?" Nick asked, his nose scrunching in distaste.

Dandee nodded, "Tobacco."

Gran edged closer, his Dust pistols at the ready. Bullet casing clinked underneath his feet.

There were three dead brothers in the corridor, and judging by the bloodstains, one of them was shot and killed while dragging a wounded comrade away. The wounded man must have crawled to the wall, before expiring.

"Bastards," he whispered.

Something made him stop.

"Gran?" Dandee whispered behind him, "What's wrong?"

Gran ignored his teammate, as he did not know how to explain. Something was off.

The dead man closest to him had an unnatural death pose. Despite the absurdity of that thought, something was off and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Perhaps it was the way he was leaning, or the way his arms were placed, as if they were too natural, like he was hiding something.

Then, he saw it. The corpse seemed to be holding something in between his curled up form, and it was not his weapon. He kicked the man's hand aside.

His blood ran cold.

"Get back!"

* * *

Winter hammered the detonator.

The claymore exploded, shaking the entire underground and rattling loose pieces of the ceiling.

Gran was shredded. 700 barbed steel flechettes tore through his Aura, shattering it in an instant. He was flung back, the entire front of his body pulverized into a bloody mess.

Nick cursed as debris ricocheted and tore into his Aura. He popped down just in time, deafened by the blast. He didn't hear the hot shrapnel whistling past his head. Dandee pushed Gran's shredded body off of herself, cursing and screaming as she scrambled backward to safety. Her vision was blurred, her ears rang, and she could feel her Aura almost break.

She turned back and fired blindly into the general direction of the blast. Lances of multi coloured Dust streaked through the smoke as she unloaded her weapon in a panic.

Her aim was off. Way off.

Russel Thursh popped from cover, and hammered two shots after the fleeing faunus, the shots from his suppressed rifle like loud coughs in the confined space.

Dandee caught the barrage in her head. Ironically, the perfect headshot saved her.

The faunus pitched back almost into a somersault as her Aura shattered. Instinctively, she rolled away and into the flimsy cover of the cubicles.

Russel and Ren advanced forwards, hammering shot after shot at the concussed enemy. Dust rolled in the corridor and fireballs flashed in the dark.

There was an audible click of an empty magazine. "Empty!" Russel shouted as he rounded behind Ren to reload. Ren immediately started to fire, keeping up the barrage.

"Ilia! Ilia!" Dandee screamed, flinching as bullets chipped and tore the cover around her. Paper debris flew around like confetti. Lead ricocheted, shattering lights, concrete and kicking up more fine dust. "Ilia! Contact!"

Nick jumped out, his high calibre rifle boomed.

Ren stopped his advance as heavy rounds chewed and clawed at the wall beside him, spraying him and Russel with fragments. He grunted as the round smacked him square in the chest, almost knocking him off his feet. Ren fired back, full auto, covering their retreat.

"You alright?" Russel shouted above the din.

"Hit my plate," Ren grunted, sucking air back into his bruised lungs, "Aura's fine."

They didn't have an angle on Nick, but then again, neither did Nick. Both sides knew they needed to push.

Dandee scrambled back while pressing herself as low to the floor as possible. Nick was firing, but she was too scared to move. She couldn't even see the bastards and didn't know where they were shooting from!

Her sensitive ears began to ring as the confined space annihilated her hearing, and Ilia was nowhere to be found. Did those bastards get her too?

Dandee screamed in anger at the thought.

Her semblance! She could use her semblance to-

Above the gunfire, the tiniest metallic _clink_ sounded beside her.

She looked down, at a spherical green object. The words "FCK U" were written in bold yellow letters, seemly squiggled on with a permanent marker.

Then, her world vanished fire and smoke as the frag grenade detonated.

* * *

Nick stumbled back, his ears ringing. He roared in pain and confusion. The entire room was now filled with smoke. The dust choked him, and he started coughing and hacking.

Dandee was surely dead, and that useless bitch Ilia was nowhere to be found.

"Fuck!" He spat, "Shit!"

His weapon clicked empty, and he scrambled clumsily at his pouch to reload.

How did this happen? Half the team taken had been taken out in less than 12 seconds. It was ridiculous, it was absurd. But it happened.

From the smoke, two black-clad figures emerged. The flickering lights cast an almost ethereal glow to the pair. Their faces were covered, their wiry frames made even taller by the obscuring light. The devices on their head glowed a dull red that trailed their movements, like the glowing eyes of-

An image struck into Nick's head.

They looked like Grimm. The Apathy, the hordes of skeletal monsters that drained away any reason and emotion of their victims before devouring them.

Horror and dread clenched his heart with a sudden vice-like grip. Nick lost control of his bowels, "Oh shit, oh FUCK."

* * *

Ilia heard, and felt the explosion that shook the entire underground compound. The lights flickered again. Then, a torrent of gunfire echoed from the hallway and reverberated through her body.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

Another explosion, and this time, silence.

Ilia wanted to call out, but she hesitated. Barely any time had passed; there was no way a fight could be over that quickly.

A wave of fear wash over her body, and she felt her skin briefly shift colours. She stopped dead in her tracks. An overwhelming sense of dread clawed and raked at her subconscious. Something was out to get her, something dark and terrible, someth-

More gunshots. Then, silence.

Ilia blinked, and she felt the wave of fear wash away like the sea.

The air was still, and she let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

That had been the fear semblance that one of Winter's men had. That could only mean one thing: her squad was no more. While Winter promised to spare anyone that survived, Ilia knew their odds of survival were still slim.

She leaned back on a wall, and slid down. The weight of her conscience crushing her was suffocating. Like a dam that had finally broke, she felt tears cascading down her face.

"I'm sorry, guys. I'm so fucking sorry." She whispered, not daring to be too loud. She bit her lips to stifle a sob, "Oh, Dee. I'm so sorry."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, but she didn't bother to face the threat. If death came, then she would welcome it.

"Hold fire," a voice growled.

Ilia blinked her tears away. It was Winter and one of her goons. If Ilia was honest, she wouldn't mind if they executed her here and now. At least she didn't have to wander if what she did was the right thing or not.

* * *

"Now," Russel said as he punched in the release code on the console scroll, "let's see what this fuss is all about."

There was a hiss of released pressure as the pod opened, the front covers sliding back to a mist of cold air. Ren stepped up to retrieve the contents.

"Yo, what the fuck?" Russel whispered.

Ren certainly shared the same sentiment. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly was not this.

There was a boy, a few years into adulthood, inside the pod. At first, the two men thought they were looking at a corpse until Ren noticed the rise and fall of the boy's chest.

The boy had his hands were chained together and there was a metal gag around the entire lower part of his face. He was malnourished, almost skin and bones. His black hair was grown out, covering his freckled face.

Russel cocked his head, and asked the question burning in Ren's mind. "Who the fuck is this?"

The boy's eyes snapped open. Hazel green eyes bore straight through Ren's soul. He saw eyes that were too old, too intelligent for a boy seemingly a few years younger than Ren himself.

Then, the world exploded.

Russel and Ren flew back, tumbling onto their feet and bringing their weapons to bear.

Winds blown by unseen energies howled, dust and shredded debris circled around the entity's bare feet.

The boy was levitating now, his eyes almost glowing. Green energies whipped and lashed around the figure, and Ren watched in horror and fascination as the metal bindings crumbled to dust. The metal face mask dissolved away like salt in water, revealing an angry snarl on the boy's face.

That is not a semblance, Ren somehow knew. There was an unmistakable buzz of power in the air, a background hum that set his teeth on edge. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to open fire and kill the threat in front of him with extreme prejudice.

But the men held their fire. The floating boy had not threatened them directly yet.

They stared at each other for a brief second. Eventually, the boy spoke.

"Who…?" His voice was raspy, dry. It was as if it had been years since he uttered a word. He swallowed, and tried again, "Who are you?"

Winter and Cardin appeared on his flank, their rifles aimed at the threat. Ilia trailed behind, her eyes wide with bewilderment at the scene unfolding in front of her.

"On the ground, now!" Winter barked, "Do it!"

The boy turned his head, frowning as if deep in thought.

"You," he whispered, "your voice. I know your voice."

"Last chance!" Winter hesitated, perhaps at the absurdity of her next words, "Stop floating, and get on the ground."

"Do as she says. This doesn't have to get ugly." Ren shouted too.

"Do you believe you have the power to threaten me? To harm me ever slightly?" the boy snapped back, "It is you that do not understand. I am in control here."

Ren's Aura kicked into overdrive, the killing intent radiating from the boy was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end.

Negotiations were over. As one, Winter's soldiers fired.

There was a flash.

Winter was hurtled through the air like a ragdoll, trailing with green energies. Rifles barked in full auto, only for the bullets to be caught in a green force field. They floated, tracers burning red hot like angry fireflies, before dropping onto the ground, inert.

Bullets were ineffective. The boy just ate enough ammunition that would have killed a Huntsman ten times over.

The team moved in without hesitation, melee weapons drawn.

Cardin's twirled his mace as he advanced batting aside chunks of concrete that flew at him. Russel's daggers flashed as he dodged and weaved into the fray. Ren's bladed pistol roared, keeping the boy focused on him.

Cardin's mace thundered, crashing into the force field with enough force to crack the ground around his target. The green barrier rippled and a hairline crack appeared on the energy field. Russel snaked in, his dual blades a blur as he hacked and slashed in vain. It was like trying to cut glass.

They dodged back, green fires missing them by a hair's breadth.

Ren breathed in, channeling his Aura, his inner chi, into the palm of his hands and straight into the tips of his index and middle fingers.

Then, he lunged forwards. The tip of his two raised fingers met the green force field in an explosion of pink Aura.

The focused blast of Aura cracked through the force field, shattering it like a glass orb. The men piled in.

Cardin's mace crashed into the boy's legs, sweeping him off his feet. Russel, his daggers whittling at the boy's Aura with incredible speed. Ren punched out with the bladed end of his pistol, hammering shot after shot into the boy's face until it clicked empty.

The boy screamed, and-

Ren blinked. He realized he was on his back. Somehow, he had been thrown across the room and into a wall. He tried to crawl up, until a stab of pain gripped his innards. His armor plate was dented and shattered in multiple places, crunching inside his combat rig like gravel.

To his surprise, Ilia was beside him, her weapon drawn.

He nodded in thanks as she helped him up. Ren ripped off his balaclava and spat out a glob of blood. He rolled onto his feet, hands already slamming in a fresh magazine in his sidearm.

Cardin was lying on the ground next to him, groaning in pain and cursing. With a heave, he hopped to his feet too. He cast a glance at Ren, and nodded.

Russel was on his knees, his blades bent and blackened by unknown energies. Winter strode in from behind, and pulled the man to his feet. Her sword was drawn.

Her face mask was ripped and tattered, revealing eyes brimming with fury.

The package, the boy that is definitely not a normal human being, panted and groaned as he stumbled unsteadily. His cheeks were bruised, and there were several deep cuts in his body. His eyes were bordering on panic and desperation, and his hands were crackling with green lightning.

 _Encircle. Destroy._ Winter signalled.

Winter's squad broke off in different directions.

The boy screamed. Eye watering green fire leapt from his arms, burning and melting all it touched. The temperature spiked as oxygen was sucked out from everyone's lungs.

But the squad did not stop. They dodged and weaved past the deadly beam, scattering like butterflies in a typhoon. Unable to focus on one target, the boy realized his mistake too late.

Black glyphs rooted his feet to the ground and bound his outstretched arms in midair.

Precise pistol shots shattered through into his Aura and into blazing hands. The destructive beam immediately cut off with a yelp of pain.

Russel and Cardin leapt in, grabbing hold of the boy's outstretched arms, now smoking and harmless. They twisted, restraining him. Ren shot in from behind and kicked out the boy's knees, forcing him to the ground.

Winter rushed in, the tip of her sword aimed at the boy's exposed throat.

Their eyes met.

"Winter Schnee?" The boy gasped through pain. Were it not for the glint of recognition within the boy's eyes, Winter would have driven the sword through his throat. She forced the killing point of her sword away, taking a lock of the boy's hair as it narrowly bisected his skull.

"Yep, one and only," Winter growled, "So now you want to talk."

"And you," the boy directed his gaze at Ren, "I know you. You were part of team JNPR."

Ren's heart dropped. He searched his mind for the boy's face, but he could not recall anyone looking like him in Beacon. "Who the hell are you?" Ren growled.

The boy started laughing, tears of relief streaked down his face, "By the Gods, I thought you were one of her people. I thought…."

"Answer, damn you!" Russel spat, twisting the boy's arm further eliciting a howl of pain. Winter shook her head, and he relented.

"My name was Oscar Pine," the boy gritted out. He took a deep breath and looked at Winter dead in the eye. "But Oscar is no more. I think you will know me better as...Ozpin."

* * *

To the civilian populace living in Menagerie, the odd gunshot or explosion was nothing out of the ordinary. The White Fang had dissolved into internal conflict before, and there were still remnants loyal to the Belladonna clan putting up resistance.

Tonight, however, was slightly different.

The deep bass detonations could have heard kilometres out, after multiple flashes of white lit up a certain spot in the distant forest. The tremors rattled the window panes of cities and settlements around, and the fire turned the night to day, and kept burning until the blazing sun rose from the horizon.

The local officials had cordoned the area off, and the very next day, it was reported that a shipment of Dust had come under the attack of an Elder Grimm. The workers had been overrun despite the best efforts of the singular Huntsman team, INDG, that had been dispatched. In an effort to defeat the Elder Grimm, the members of the Huntsman team had detonated the Dust shipment to annihilate the eternal enemy, and they would be posthumously awarded for their bravery and sacrifice.

The reality was much more different.

* * *

"Target designated," Winter reported into the radio, "Kingpin, send it."

The radio snarled back an affirmative, before going silent.

Several kilometres up in the sky, an Atlesian gunship released its deadly payload. A singular missile streaked through the cold night sky with subsonic speeds, cutting vapour trails through the air like a sword. It sailed with pinpoint accuracy, homing into the designated target, laser painted by Winter's binoculars visually.

Before the warhead struck, it detonated in midair, blooming like a deadly white flower spewing forth pollen that spread and coated the entire facility, clinging onto every surface and entering through the smallest of vents.

For several moments, one could compare the image to a fluffy cloud on a beautiful summer day that found itself in contact with the ground. However, it was formed of something much more sinister.

Then, the spark.

Fire and Lightning Dust crackled through the smoke, igniting the deadly chemical compound.

The result was a cataclysmic clap as a titanic fireball blossomed into the sky, turning night to day. Everything caught within, burnt to naught but ash.

Winter nodded, satisfied at the destruction of the facility. She turned back to the group behind her, her eyes fixed on the boy in the middle.

"Headmaster," Winter addressed the man, "I apologize for our earlier...misunderstanding."

"Headmaster no longer," Ozpin smiled, with a face that wasn't his, "the fault was not entirely your own. I reacted with hostile intent." Ozpin closed his eyes as he savored the sensation of rain upon his skin, "I do not know how long it has been. I must thank you, Ms Schnee. And of course, my former students too."

The men shifted uncomfortably in the darkness of the jungle, but otherwise said nothing. Ilia could feel their uncertainty and suspicion even as she stood outside of the group.

It was unmistakable now that it was pointed out. The boy spoke in Ozpin's tone and mannerism. The way he walked, and the way he stood. It was Ozpin, yet at the same time, it wasn't.

"When we get back to Atlas," Winter suppressed a shudder, "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"In due time, Ms Schnee. In due time."


	3. Cascade

**Cascade  
**

_5 Years Ago  
_ _A week after the Assassination of General Ironwood.  
_ _Memorial Military Hospital, Atlas._

"My name is Bane Skylar. Squad leader of Black Claws unit 01, and a White Fang revolutionary."

The man sat in front of a row of microphones and cameras, his singular remaining arm was cuffed to the stands. He looked sickly and pale despite his bulging muscles, a fact further emphasized by the receding black veins that crawled across his skin.

"What was your mission?" a reporter asked.

A smile split the man's face, "To kill General James Ironwood and the entire Schnee family."

A murmur across the room. It shouldn't come as a surprise, yet it was another thing to hear it admitted out loud.

"What kind of soldiers were in the Black Claws?"

"Your worst nightmare."

Winter hung upside down from the ceiling, hearing but not listening to the news channel.

Her legs were hooked around a makeshift pull-up bar. Sweat dripped and ran down her body, stinging her eyes and gathering in a small pool on the ground. With a snarl, she curled herself up, again and again, her abdominal muscles burning from the constant exertion. The wounds burned, but she ignored it. Her abdomen was caked in a thin layer of coagulated blood as her stitches tore and reopened.

Winter did not give a damn. Pain and anger was the only thing keeping her from doing anything too stupid. Her mind was restless. The pain that racked her wounds was nothing compared to the bitterness that she tasted in her mouth.

She caught a whiff of alcohol, as she heard her window click open.

"Winter!" A coarse voice from behind her barked, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hello again, Qrow," Winter greeted. She did one last curl up, then flipped herself over into a pull-up position. She took a few deep breaths and started doing pull-ups. One, two, three, four, she mentally counted.

"Ever heard of taking a break?" Qrow shot back, his face lined with concern, "Brothers! Have you torn your stitches again?"

"I may have," Winter admitted in between reps, "ever heard of coming through the damn front doo- woah!"

The makeshift pull-up bar finally gave way. The metal bar came tumbling down, cracking into her head as she came down. In any other circumstance, the short fall would have Winter land on her feet. But then, out of sheer bad luck, she lost her footing in her own pool of sweat.

Qrow darted in and caught her, just enough for her to regain footing. Winter steadied herself, her mind processing what had happened.

Winter growled as Qrow looked at her sheepishly.

"I, uh. Sorry."

Rage roared up inside of her chest. Winter shoved Qrow aside, and with a scream of effort, she hurled the broken piece of metal aside, impaling it into the wall. "You and your fucking semblance!"

"Winter, please. I'm sorry. You know I can't-"

"Fuck off with that sorry excuse!" Winter snapped, the bitterness on her tongue turning into venom.

A thought surfaced in her mind. There was an almost overpowering urge to punch the drunk idiot into the mouth. Her hands curled to fists and-

Winter caught the surprised look on Qrow's face. The boiling anger in her subsided, as she visibly deflated. She stopped herself before she could go further, before she said something she will truly regret.

Winter took a deep breath, sat herself down in her cot. She buried her face in her hands, and sighed, "I'm sorry, Qrow. That was unworthy of me."

The older man walked in front of her and lowered himself to her eye level. He placed his rough hands on her legs, palms up. Winter hesitantly placed her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. Her hands were trembling, but Qrow steadied them.

His crimson eyes were soft, "Hey,"

"Hey," she whispered back.

"Something happened, didn't it?"

Winter nodded, not trusting herself to speak at the moment.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She tilted her head, unsure whether she wanted to nod or shake.

"Then let's see to your wound first," Qrow offered, "Aura might do wonders, but it won't help against infection."

For the next few minutes, she sat there in her cot unmoving as Qrow cleaned her healing gunshot wounds. Aside from the blood, her pale skin had multiple ugly purple bruises where bullets had failed to break her aura.

It stung as she felt him wipe away the dried blood. It hurt when he applied healing ointment over her ugly puncture. But it was a minor cut compared to the gaping wound in her heart.

Sometimes, when Winter lay awake at night, she wondered why she had not just bled out in the snow.

"I-" Winter began. Qrow looked up, ready to listen. She forced a smile, "I met with the council this morning."

Qrow paused, a frown creasing his forehead, "For what?"

"My punishment," Winter sighed, and closed her eyes, "for my failure."

"You have got to be joking me."

"Honourable discharge," Winter whispered, "on medical grounds."

"No fucking way."

Winter nodded. Soldiers fighting the Grimm were physically wounded all the time. Modern Atlesian tech could heal almost any physical wound, and perhaps even enhance a body's base performance. Ironwood himself had overcome his life-threatening injuries and continued to serve Atlas with distinction until his assassination.

So they cited mental issues instead, as an excuse to remove Winter from the line of duty.

She opened the drawer next to her cot. In it, lay the letter of discharge.

"They said…" Winter continued, feeling a lump form in her throat, "they said I was lucky to get an honourable discharge at all."

She opened her eyes and looked at Qrow.

"It wasn't your fault. None of that was your fault! How could they-"

"They said I was negligent. Complacent in the line of duty." Winter pressed on, "My complacency had led to the assassination of General Ironwood, Chairman Schnee, his wife, his younger daughter, and the deaths of 107 civilians. 34 of which were children."

A breath hitched in her throat and she felt Qrow's hands squeeze around hers tightly. Qrow frowned, "Winter. Did you just say-?"

"Do you understand now, Qrow?" Ignoring his question, Winter gave him a thin and brittle smile. "No one is going to pin the blame on General Ironwood. To do so is to pin the blame on the council. Since they pushed for lax security. "

The anger returned as she continued, burning like acidic bile in her throat, "Lax security. Lax screening. Lax everything. And for what? Cheap labour in Mantle? More votes to secure their position? They might as well have rolled out the red carpet for the White Fang!"

But as quickly as the anger came, it was swept aside. Winter took a few moments to compose herself, chewing over her next words. "The blame falls on the highest-ranking specialist leading and overseeing the ceremony. But Major Brann Forrest had died of his wounds yesterday….so that leaves…" Winter gestured elaborately to herself like she had been taught to as a child during SDC parties, "yours truly: Specialist Captain Winter Schnee."

"But!" feigning surprise, Winter widened her eyes with mockery despite the hot tears now cascading down her cheeks, "Due to the tragedy that had befallen my family, my exemplary service record to this Kingdom, and my inspiringly heroic actions that went above and beyond the call of duty…"

Winter shifted aside the discharge papers revealing a small box. She opened it and fished out a small medal. A silver and blue heart, emblazoned with intricate swords and proudly displaying the symbol of Atlas. Qrow's eyes widened at the sight of it, "I am to be discharged on medical ground, and awarded the Iron Heart."

Winter laughed, hollow and bitter. She tossed the prestigious medal aside without looking like it physically stung her.

Qrow bit back a snarl of rage and disgust. He knew how much she worked, how hard she had fought, how much she had sacrificed for Atlas. The bodies weren't even cold and those snivelling politicians were already in motion, swooping in like vultures and rats.

He knelt by Winter's bed and pulled the still laughing woman into a tight embrace.

She did not resist.

"We will find a way to fix this, Winter," He promised, "I swear it."

Qrow felt her body shuddering from laughter. As the woman buried her face into his chest, he felt hot tears seep into his shirt. He held her tighter. It was times like these when he wished he had as much talent coming up with comforting words as he had with insults.

"I honestly don't care at this point, Qrow." She whispered from his chest.

"Winter?"

She drew back and looked up into his eyes. Qrow's heart shattered at the sight.

"They wouldn't even let me see Whitley," she croaked, "I only found out Weiss died when the Councilman Sleet was talking about the casualties."

Qrow felt Winter's hands cling onto him like her life depended on it. Her lips trembled.

"Those bastards kept me in the dark for all this time. Why? Just for some petty show of power? Or some play to throw me off? Why, Qrow? Can you tell me why? Please. I don't know!." Winter hiccupped as she pleaded. "She fought for four days, Qrow. She died three days ago and I wasn't by her side. I didn't even know! They wouldn't even tell me! My baby sister...I…"

As she buried her face deeper into Qrow's chest, convulsed by wracking sobs, Winter Schnee howled.

* * *

_Present Day  
_ _Somewhere in the Menagerie  
  
_

They had commandeered the White Fang's vehicles parked at the black site. Cardin hotwired a troop transport truck as the rest stripped the corpses of their Grimm masks. After giving their disguises a quick wash in the rain to get rid of the blood, they began exfiltration.

"What are you doing?" Ilia hissed. Cardin and Ren had tossed two dead bodies in the back and hastily covered them with a tarp.

"You'll see," Cardin said, and ignored further protests.

Russel drove, maneuvering the vehicle through the muddy roads skillfully. Under the guidance of Ilia, they drove north, avoiding settlements and sticking well within Albain controlled territory.

Ozpin had been talking to Winter through the entire ride. He wanted to know if there will be repercussions for Atlas soldiers being found in Menagerie, and especially a Schnee. He wanted to know if it would affect the SDC Chairman, which by now would have been Weiss Schnee.

"Save for Whitley, they are all dead," Winter told him flatly if only to shut the man's incessant line of questions. She still had a mission to focus on.

There was a pregnant moment of silence. Ilia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly aware of how unarmed she is.

"I'm sorry Ms. Schnee," Ozpin offered, "the years were not kind to you. Weiss was an exemplary student, driven and motivated. I truly believe she would have led SDC into a brighter future if she had the chance to."

Winter nodded wordlessly.

"And what of Atlas?" Ozpin continued, "The military will surely be implicated if your presence is known."

"Yes, and no," Winter took a moment to think about her next choice of words. She looked Ozpin in the eye, "I cannot confirm nor deny my current affiliation."

The former headmaster seemed to get the message and simply nodded.

"Contact, on our 6!" Ren hissed, "Vehicle approaching!"

"Maintain speed." Winter ordered, her voice low, "Check your weapons."

It was another truck, loaded with troops in the back. It thundered towards them and blared its horn twice.

"Fuck," Russel cursed. "We getting pulled over?"

"We're ready," Winter hissed.

Russel dropped his speed slightly and edged over to the side. He unholstered his sidearm just in case.

The truck immediately gunned its engines and roared around them, horns blaring again. The troops loaded in the back waved and saluted to their "comrades in arms" as they overtook. Ilia waved back from within the truck, then breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was close," Ilia muttered.

"We could have taken them," Cardin assured. He cursed as Russel hit a bump, agitating his wound. Russel just laughed.

They arrived at the designated point and promptly abandoned the truck. Ilia finally understood what the two corpses were for. They dragged the bodies into the driver's seat, set the transport on fire, then hurtled it off a cliff face.

The crash and fuel explosion rumbled in the night, lost in the rain and thunder.

A tragic accident, nothing more.

They made the rest of the journey on foot. Ilia and Ozpin were dragged by Ren and Cardin respectively as they bound cover to cover, still on high alert.

Ilia knew they had arrived when her sensitive ears picked up the distant growl of turbines through the din of the storm.

"30 seconds early," Winter commented, checking her watch, "not bad, boys."

"Just another day in the office," Cardin chuckled.

A Bullhead, painted black and flying low just above the choppy waves, roared into sight. In less than a minute, they were on board, disappearing into the darkness like ghosts in the night.

* * *

The Bullhead shuddered in the turbulent air, twin engines roaring as it fought against the stormy winds. The team, dripping wet from the rain, sat in silence within the aircraft.

There was usually no talking, in the Bullhead. The noisy turbines made it almost impossible to communicate, and Winter hated hearing the tinny renditions of each person's voice over the hearing protection they wore.

Cardin grumbled and cursed as he shifted uncomfortably in the metal seats. Due to the poor weather conditions, Winter had to order the idiot to strap in instead of standing around and imitating a marble pea in a spray can.

Russel was snoring, his head rolling and bobbing up and down as he somehow managed to fall asleep. The man's ability to fall asleep at the drop of the hat in any condition was a trait Winter was secretly jealous of.

Ren's eyes were glued to Ilia and Ozpin. He still had his pistol out, and he was pretending to fiddle with it, tossing it from one hand to the next and spinning it deftly in his fingers. Winter knew him well enough to know he was still on edge.

Ilia, for the most part, knew she was being watched. She kept her eyes to the floor. Her skin shifted colours now and then as the aircraft experienced sudden drops or intense shaking. Winter suspected the faunus was getting mildly airsick. Good. She would not be able to do anything too wild if she was about to empty half her guts.

As for Ozpin…

It was still hard to think of the boy as Ozpin. He had the demeanor of the wizened headmaster, and he exuded an almost infectious calm. Her mind was burning with the power she had witnessed in the underground facility.

It wasn't a semblance, and it certainly was not some form of technology. Perhaps it was in a similar vein of the Grimm enhanced soldiers of certain White Fang units. Whatever it was, Winter wanted to weaponize it.

As soon as those thoughts surfaced from in her mind, Ozpin met her gaze.

His eyes narrowed, and Winter returned his stare.

He knew.

* * *

"Is that Argus?"

Those were the first words Ozpin asked on the entire flight back. His distorted voice crackled into Winter's earpiece, and she recoiled, her skin crawling. Winter looked out the window, and they were indeed flying over the port of Argus on their way back to Solitas.

"Yes, headmaster," Winter replied.

The boy headmaster was silent for a few heartbeats, "It has changed dramatically." He finally said.

Indeed, Winter knew what he meant.

Her military career had taken her to the small coastal town of Argus multiple times, and soldiers liked to take shore leave in this part of Mistral. Once, it had been a beautiful city, bustling with commerce. The cultural diversity Mistral offered was reflected in this hub as traders from all over Remnant converged in this port on their journey to Mistral.

Now, the stone walls protecting the city were lined with static defenses ranging from anti-air flak turrets to large cannons capable of decimating hordes of Grimm in a single shot. Outside the stone walls were rows and rows of hastily built housing and temporary tents, their very own slums that mirrored the societal and wealth divide in Atlas and Mantle.

As they swooped over the Atlas-controlled island base, white armoured walkers and soldiers could be seen standing guard, forming a physical wall of armed deterrence dividing Atlas and Mistral.

"Has James lost his mind?" Ozpin growled, "The fool is going to-"

"General Ironwood," Winter cut her, "is dead."

That got Ozpin's attention.

"I beg your pardon?"

"General Ironwood is dead," Winter said again, "assassinated by a special White Fang commando group 5 years ago."

She shot the headmaster a glare, "The lack of tight security cost the good general his life, as well as the lives of my mother, my father, and-"

Winter took in a sharp breath, and she looked away. Her knuckles gripping her rifle were white from the effort.

A wave of calm suddenly washed through her, and she let out a sigh. The whirlwind of emotions forming within her chest suddenly dissipated, and she nodded to Ren.

"Thank you, Lie."

The man nodded back.

Winter turned her attention back to Ozpin, "Ozpin. You may have been the headmaster of Beacon. You may have had the respect and trust of General Ironwood, Qrow, and Glynda. But let it be known, I will not allow you to disrespect his memory in my presence."

They held gazes for a few heartbeats.

"My sincerest apologies, Ms. Schnee," Ozpin inclined his head. He seemed genuinely shocked and remorseful at the news. He sat back, as if deep in thought. "Who else, Ms. Schnee?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who else have we lost while I was locked away?"

Winter cast a look at the men, her boys, sitting around her. Russel was still asleep. Ren had shifted his stare to the ground, and Cardin slumped visibly in his seat.

"Too many people," Winter said, "way too many."

* * *

_0630  
_ _Main Operating Base Elysia, Atlas_

The Bullhead landed in the Atlas airfield as the first rays of dawn crept up over the horizon. White-clad engineering contractors scurried like ants towards the setting aircraft, tools and machinery at the ready.

The landing was rough. The high altitude winds buffeting against the flying city grounded any aerial operations save for the most experienced pilots.

The aircraft hatches slid open, and Winter hopped out without much ceremony. Soot and burnt Dust clung to parts of her face, and her hair fluttered freely in the strong winds. She looked around, eyes searching for the man that was always there to greet her at the end of each mission.

A tall man, his black windbreaker long coat contrasting directly to the white-uniformed personnel milling around, stepped up towards the Bullhead.

"Hey there, Ice Queen." He greeted, but soon realized that his greeting had been lost in the howling winds and the whine of engines powering down.

Winter smiled anyway. He saw her mouth move as she uttered his name, "Qrow."

Qrow smiled back as he felt the tension in his shoulders ebb away. Every mission Winter embarked on carried the risk of her returning in a body bag. Or, Brothers forbid, not coming back at all.

She had almost died in his arms half a decade ago, and it wasn't an experience he was too eager on repeating.

But, he had given her the intel. He had sent her deep into enemy territory, knowing full well she would take the mission. Some things are bigger than his personal wants.

Of course, Qrow would have gone with her, had he been born with a different semblance.

An engineer jogging past him suddenly dropped his scroll. Qrow closed his eyes and offered the poor man a mental apology when he heard the unfortunate man's anguished wails at a cracked screen.

Behind Winter, came the rest of the squad, still carrying their weapons and gear. The biggest of them, Cardin, said something to Winter. She nodded, and he jogged off after saluting.

There were two others that Qrow did not recognize, a boy and a girl.

He locked eyes with the boy. The boy's eyes widened, and Qrow saw the familiar smile of recognition.

Ozpin.

So Winter had succeeded after all.

As the engines died down, Qrow could finally hear again.

"There you are, Ice Queen," Qrow grinned as they came up. He paused to look the two strangers up and down. "My dear Winter. You haven't gone and found yourself two little friends, have you? How adorable. There's hope for you yet."

Winter rolled her eyes, but Qrow could see the edges of her mouth twitch up, "Qrow. Not in front of the men."

"So you aren't denying it. And here I was thinking I was good enough. Didn't know you to be so greedy."

"Of course you are, darling," Winter whispered just loud enough for him to hear. She cocked her head, "but before that…Ren, Russel!" The boys behind her snapped to attention. "Escort Ms. Amitola to the designated quarters before she freezes to death. Dismissed."

The two men snapped a sharp salute, following Atlas military protocol to the letter. They marched in sync, their rifles slung over their shoulders and their heads held up high. The girl, Ilia, followed them, her movements oozing uncertainty and her teeth chattering as the winds blew.

"Qrow Branwen," Winter said, and at that moment Qrow knew he was in trouble. She never used his full name without reason, "would you care to explain to me why Ozpin is now a young boy?"

* * *

Atlas.

How long has it been since she had set foot in the flying city? 10 years? 15? Ilia couldn't remember. It had almost seemed like a lifetime ago. The architecture of Atlas was still as she remembered all those years ago. Grey, white and blue, the brutal functional angles denoting military or huntsmen jurisdiction while the elegant classical architecture denoting the wealthy elites. Everyone else lived in poverty and squalor down in Mantle, although still leagues better than the settlements and villages scattered throughout Remnant.

She will always remember the look on her parents' faces on her first day at Atlas Academy. They had wept in joy, happy that they had collectively worked hard enough to give their one and only daughter a fighting chance at a better life.

Look at how she squandered it, how she squandered her parents' love and sacrifice.

"Mum, dad. I'm sorry," Ilia whispered. She closed her eyes, her cheeks prickled and numbed themselves to the oddly familiar sensation of the Atlas winds. Her parents must be disappointed. To have raised a killer, and then a traitor. Ilia was sure there was a circle of hell specifically for the likes of her. Even the Brother of Darkness despises betrayal.

Yet here she is, standing in the middle of Atlas again, escorted by Schnee henchmen.

Two others approached them. A male black-haired faunus and a blond woman, their dark complexion and clean white uniforms a direct inverse from the black combat gear of the two Schnee goons flanking her. Even their haircuts are similar, the woman's blond wolf tail to Russel's mohawk, and the man's swept-back long hair to Ren's.

"Welcome back, legionnaires." The woman said. There was something akin to pride in her dark pink eyes.

"Specialist Captain Bree, Lieutenant Amin," Ren greeted. Ren and Russel snapped a salute.

"At ease, then drop the formalities, boys," Captain Bree waved a dismissive hand.

"Force of habit, Harriet."

"You kids make me feel old, you know that?" the faunus folded his arms, "Not fun."

"You're not much older than we are, Marrow." Russel snorted.

"Hush, child." Marrow nodded towards Ilia, "Who's this? Some poor recruit you are hazing?"

"Ilia Amitola," She said, doing her best to keep her teeth from chattering. Her eyes fixed on the soldier's tail, "I am not a recruit."

She must have been staring at his dog tail, because Marrow snorted, "There's more of us in the military than you think, girl."

"She's faunus too, Marrow," Ren offered, "but we are not at the liberty to discuss anything at the moment."

"Got it."

Harriet frowned and looked around as if searching for something. Concern crept into her expression. "Where is the big guy?"

"Cardin was shot," Ren said flatly.

A pause. The pair's eyes widened.

"In the arse," Russel added completely straight-faced, "he's in the infirmary now. Took a ricochet in his arse cheek. Nothing too serious."

Russel burst out laughing, and even Ren cracked a grin.

"Jackass!" Harriet exploded, her eyes flashing yellow. "C'mere you fuckers!"

She whacked the two boys on the side of their head, like a mother to her children for a harmless prank, then hauled them into a headlock in both arms.

Russel was still laughing as he struggled. Ren just stood motionless and awkward, his body half bent to accommodate the shorter woman.

"Marrow! Help me!" Russel cried, half-choking and wheezing, "help! Ilia!"

"Get fucked, Thrush." Marrow said flatly, "You too, Lie. One of these day's we're gonna stop believing your lying asses."

"I'll believe it when I see it, Marrow." Ren struggled to say, his voice taking a pitch, "But please. Not in front of-" He choked and coughed as Harriet squeezed harder, "Hare, please."

"Call me ma'am, boys. And I'll consider not embarrassing you in front of your new friend."

"Ma'am!" the pair croaked.

Harriet released the two, chuckling, "Carry on. I'll see you at training."

They ushered Ilia along, and she was glad they did pick up the pace. She must have been turning blue from the cold because they broke into a light jog. She was still wearing shorts fit for the tropical beaches of Menagerie, after all.

The indoors were no better, despite the lack of wind.

"This entire thing wasn't what I expected," Ilia admitted as they walked down the empty hallways. Her voice echoed in the white corridors, and she winced at how loud it seemed.

Ren shot Ilia a sidelong glance, "Elaborate."

Ilia wasn't sure if she wanted to speak her mind, but at the same time, they haven't beaten her to silence yet as she would if she was escorting a prisoner. Ilia shrugged, trying to play her uncertainty off casually, "I was expected to either be shot, manhandled, and thrown into a cage, or tossed out the Bullhead halfway to Atlas. Or at least be in handcuffs."

"We could still do it," Russel offered, "if it makes you feel better."

"Ilia," Ren said, his tone steady, "we are not bandits, nor the White Fang."

She bit back an instinctual retort at the comparison. But then again, isn't that why she left? Isn't that why she offered the heads of her friends and comrades up on a silver platter to these humans?

"You are still conflicted."

Ilia looked at the floor, and she stopped walking. The two men slowed down too, their rifles hung loosely on their slings. They didn't urge her onwards.

"Yes," Ilia admitted after a lengthy pause, "yes I am." She looked up, at the impassive faces of the humans. "Is it that obvious?"

"My semblance allows me to read a person's emotions, Ilia." Ren explained, "Right now, you look like a modern Atlesian art piece."

"I-uh. What?" Ilia frowned, slightly baffled and unsure if that was an insult. She had no idea what passes for modern Atlesian art pieces. Judging from the snort of amusement from Russel, it was probably an insult.

"You don't need a semblance to see it," Russel said.

"I know what you are feeling right now," Ren continued, ignoring the girl's confusion, "not because I empathise, but because I see it." He smiled, "and you do not have a drop of killing intent in you."

"What do you mean, killing intent?"

"Hostility. Bloodlust. Killing intent, whatever you call it," Ren clarified. His eyes softened, "you are tired of it all. That makes you a non-combatant."

"And that," Russel added in, "is why we haven't dumped you in a shallow ditch with a hole in your head."

Ren glared. If looks could kill, Russel would have been lying in the said ditch with a hole in his head.

* * *

"Qrow, while I am absolutely elated for you and Ms. Schnee," Ozpin leaned into the table as he graciously accepted a steaming hot cup of coffee from Qrow, "you must forgive me for saying that I am shocked."

"Comparatively?" Winter said as she stretched her sore legs, "To find out that you can come back from the dead is incomparable to the revelations of our relationship." She looked the boy in the eye, "That's not a semblance, is it, sir?"

"No, it isn't," Qrow confirmed, dragging out a chair besides Winter. "Comparing a semblance to my powers is akin to comparing apples to oranges, Ms. Schnee." Ozpin took a sip of his drink before turning his attention to Qrow, "Qrow, how much have you revealed to her?"

The older man shrugged, "Not much that James hasn't already. It honestly became irrelevant these few years and I have not thought about it. With you gone, things just sort of…fell apart."

"A pity," Ozpin said, looking wistfully in the air, "perhaps the burden of command was too much for Glynda to bear." Ozpin frowned, and looked expectantly at Qrow, "Do you happen to know where Glynda is?"

Qrow gestured through the window at the general direction of the ocean, "Headmaster of Atlas academy. James offered me a senior teaching position too." He unscrewed his hip flask. The smell of whiskey filled the air as he took a sip from it, "He had wanted to separate the military and the academies after mass protests in Mantle about a year after you were gone."

"General Ironwood told me Atlas is held aloft by an ancient staff. The nature of it was still classified and above my paygrade, I'm afraid." Qrow offered Winter his flask, and she took it, taking a small sip in return. She swallowed, frowning at the flask in her hands as if it was not what she was expecting. She looked at Qrow, "You drink this swill? What happened to the bottle I left you?"

"Saving it. Qrow grinned, "What? Still don't enjoy the taste of poverty?"

"Ugh," She grumbled, "bloody peasant." Winter grinned.

"And what of the Winter Maiden, Fria?" the boy headmaster enquired, "is she still in good health?"

Qrow shook his head, "Passed in her sleep a year after Beacon fell. We don't know where her abilities went after that."

Ozpin grimaced, "Unfortunate. Two steps forward and one step back."

"Fria? The old lady?" Winter frowned, "What has she got to do with anything? What do you mean, Winter maiden?"

"Oh boy," Qrow breathed.

"But before we begin," Ozpin looked into his coffee as if contemplating, "I ask you keep an open mind."

"Headmaster," Winter chuckled, "the very fact that you are sitting in front of me has me questioning if I'm losing my grip."

"I assure you, you are not." Ozpin began, "Tell me, do you believe in destiny?"

"No," Winter said flatly. "That would ultimately imply that some people were born to die." Her jaws clenched and unclenched, "And I have killed a lot of people."

"A fair philosophy," Ozpin conceded, "the Brothers were not as all-powerful as some religious sects make them out to be."

"You speak like you know."

"That's because I do."

Winter didn't blink, and her breathing slowed. She locked eyes with Ozpin, studying eyes that were much too old for the man with such a youthful face. That coupled with the fact that it was undeniably Ozpin that sat in front of her, forced her to at least consider the possibility.

"Ozpin." Winter said, not breaking eye contact, "Just how long have you been walking Remnant? How old are you, really?"

The boy closed his eyes, as he thought about the question. It took him a few heartbeats, but when he smiled, Winter saw the face of a very tired old man. "Consider the amount of time it takes you to blink. To bat your eyelids up and down. A few fractions of a second at most," Ozpin looked up into the ceiling and closed his eyes again. "I am reaching a point where I consider entire lives to come and go in that instant."

"Bullshit," Winter snorted.

"I assure you, it isn't." Ozpin opened his eyes and returned his gaze to the soldier in front of him, "And I'm not the only one.

Winter snatched the hip flask from Qrow and downed it.

* * *

_2030  
_ _Kuo Kuana, Menagerie  
  
_

The doors slammed open, flying off its hinges as Adam Taurus burst in.

"Corsac! Fennec!" He growled, "Bastards! Where are you?"

Two Albain bodyguards stormed forth pointing their ceremonial shortswords at the intruder. The Albain brothers looked up from their half-finished dinner, scowling at the man's rude entrance.

Fennec gently put his fork down as he swallowed the mouthful he was chewing, "Stand down, men." He waved the guards aside as they backed away.

"Adam Taurus," Corsac greeted, "what brings you to us this morning, child?"

"You incompetent fools," Adam said and slugged the man in the mouth. Corsac cannoned backward and tumbled back from his chair, teeth shattered. Fennec yelped in surprise, and the guards moved in.

Adam surged forwards to meet them, straight into the masterful cuts of the bodyguards. The blade glanced off Adam's sheath, and before the bodyguard could readdress, Adam punched him in the throat.

The man staggered back, choking and wheezing. The second man leapt over his fallen friend, blades flashing. Adam crouched, his hands hovering over the hilt of his sword. There was a blur of black, and the bodyguard suddenly found a vicious black claw around his throat. Blade-like talons, as long as forearms, seized his jugular. It began to squeeze.

"Blake! Stop!" Adam barked.

The pressure lifted immediately. The bewildered bodyguard turned to see a girl behind. What struck him was not the woman's bone-white skin, nor was it the fact that her hands had morphed from Grimm-like talons. What struck him, were her black and red eyes, empty and devoid of thought or emotion.

"Enough!" Fennec roared, "This madness ends now!"

Dutifully, the bodyguard lifted his hands in submission. Adam's hand left his weapon.

"Blake. Let him go. We are not here for blood."

Without a word, the girl called Blake released her victim. She stood there, unmoving, her empty eyes staring straight ahead.

Corsac groaned as he was helped up by his brother. His mouth was streaming bright red blood, and he glared at Adam.

Adam gestured to a chair, "Sit in the corner, Blake. Wait till I'm done."

Nodding once, Blake strode over and sat like an Atlesian droid executing a string of commands. Adam ignored the look of disgust on the Albain brothers' faces. They have no right to be, not after the formation of the Black Claws.

"What's the matter with you, boy?" Fennec growled, "Have you lost your mind? I could have you killed for this."

"What happened at facility 103?" Adam demanded, "Explain to me this loss of life."

"The Grimm-"

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Adam roared, "The Grimm do not leave headshots and blade wounds."

Corsac's eyes widened, "How-? But they bodies-"

Adam threw his head back and laughed. "They were our fighters, Corsac. Burned to a crisp or not, they are my men. I at least owe them the courtesy of seeing them off," His eyes flashed behind his mask, and his smile turned to a sneer, "I had to tell their families that lie you concocted. It fucking sickens me!" He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, "How the fuck do I tell multiple families that there wasn't enough of mum and dad or their baby child left to fill a shoebox! For Brothers' sake, I can't even find Ilia's body!"

He snatched the dinner plate that Corsac had been eating off and scarfed down the half-eaten steak. It is not like the idiot is going to be using his teeth anytime soon, Adam thought as he chewed angrily.

"Adam, we are doing everything we can to uncover what happened," Corsac explained, wincing with each word, "we've questioned almost everyone in Kuo Kuana, and-"

Adam raised his hand. "I've been involved in the operation, Corsac. I've been at the site of the attack. I know what's being done, but what concerns me is what isn't being seen."

"What are you saying?" Fennec hissed.

Adam pulled out his scroll and slid open his notes. He rattled off his thoughts and findings. "An entire platoon of fighters were wiped out without raising an alarm. At approximately 0030 hours, facility 103 stopped responding. INDG was sent in and shortly after, stopped responding too. This is not the work of normal Huntsman."

"No, I do not suppose it is."

"Then the following explosion wiped all the evidence off the face of Remnant. Most likely highly volatile Dust ordinance. Sienna does not have access to this kind of ordinance, or if she did, any movement of it would have been reported to us. Guerrillas don't have access to that as well."

"Then what are you suggesting? If not for Sienna or Belladonna guerrillas, then who?"

"Commando tactics, ordinance support, and the skills and balls to take us on the middle of the night?" Adam said, "I do not know, but my gut tells me it's that bitch, Winter Schnee."

* * *

Adam Taurus was not having a good day.

Menagerie had been hit hard, and they still had no idea who orchestrated the attack. An entire platoon was slaughtered, and a facility burned to the ground. There were a few other accidents reported on the island, mainly accidents caused by mudslides and bad weather conditions, but Adam has been in the field long enough to know that the avenues of entry and exit are almost limitless. The enemy might even still on Menagerie, or they might be having a stroll in the deserts of Vacuo.

He was about to return to his quarters, Blake following him like a Geist in his shadow. Men that caught sight of him bowed in respect or fear, while those under his command saluted. They didn't even dare look at Blake.

Not for the first time, he asked himself where it all went so wrong.

As he stepped into his private quarters, he felt a presence in the room.

The darkness did not affect his vision, yet somehow it was suffocating and impenetrable tonight.

This wasn't normal, nor natural.

Adam drew his blade.

"Hello, Adam." A voice, smooth as silk, drifted from within the darkness.

He recognized the voice and lowered his blade. "I wasn't told of any visitors, Cinder."

The veil of darkness lifted, and Adam felt his skin crawl. The woman in front of him was human, or at least she used to be. Almost the entire left side of her upper body was Grimm. She was painfully beautiful, in the way a defiled work of art was. The entire left side of her face was scarred and bone white like a Grimm. She used to wear an eyepatch, perhaps out of self-consciousness or shame. But now it was for the world to see. Her left eye was a blood-red orb, soulless and full of malice.

Adam only knew she was amused by looking at her human eyes. "I would be a fool to make my presence known, Adam."

"Where are your two lapdogs? We might have our arrangement, but remember that this is still Menagerie. Humans are not welcome to wander around as they please."

"Lapdogs," Cinder laughed, "audacious for you to even use the word. Considering your lobotomized pet."

There was a blinding flash of red. A shriek of metal rang through the air.

Cinder held Adam's sword at bay, just a few centimeters from taking off her head. She smiled coyly as her Grimm hand tightened around the hungry red blade. There was no blood. She had just caught an attack that would have cleaved through Atlas Paladin's armour open with nothing but her bare hands.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

Adam growled as he pushed the blade, his muscles trembling with effort, "She is not a pet."

"Our mistress granted you your wish," Cinder whispered, "she brought your little obsession back to life after your rabble killed her." She spat out the last few words to drive in her point. "I saw the aftermath. How they paraded her butchered body in the streets. How they f-"

"Shut up." Adam snarled. He pulled back his sword and sheathed it.

There was a rattling sound in the corner. The corpse-thing was trembling.

"Come here," Adam said, his soft tone sharply contrasting the knife's edge his tone took a mere heartbeat ago.

Cinder watched as Grimm hybrid trotted over like a broken puppet. She watched with morbid curiosity as the man shushed and comforted the Grimm girl like she was a child. Like she was still alive.

Cinder could almost imagine the screams of horror emitting from the girl's soul, at least what little uncorrupted remnants of it.

The concept amused and sickened her at the same time.

"She knew damn well what I wanted, Cinder," Adam hissed, "I never wanted…this."

Cinder snorted, "Salem is many things, but she knows the hearts of men better than you do yourself. Face it, Taurus. You wanted this, else you would have put her out of her misery by now."

"I…"

"Remember what she said? You must learn the importance of life and death, child." Cinder chided, "Only then, may she rest."

"I know what she said!" Adam hissed. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. "Why are you here?"

Cinder folded her arms as she leaned back in her seat, "What can you tell me about the recent attack?"

Adam narrowed his eyes, "How the hell did you find out?"

Cinder rolled her eye, "The Grimm are everywhere, Taurus. They are her eyes and ears. You should know this by now."

"Then you know damn well what happened, probably even better than those idiot brothers." Adam grunted, "All I know is that it has cost the lives of a lot of good people."

"You know nothing, then. Good." Cinder smiled, "let me give you some information as a sign of….good will."

It was then Cinder knew she had the man's full attention.

"Did She ask you to do this, or are you just toying with me and the lives of my men?" Adam asked, his voice low, "Maiden or not, I will at least make sure you get another arm replacement if you are fucking with me."

"You wouldn't be able to scratch me."

"You know I can do more than that."

"Save your bravado, Taurus," Cinder snorted, "do you want to find out who killed your people or not?

Cinder watched the man ponder his decision. His fingers circled and twirled around strands of "Blake's" black hair. He was hesitating.

Perhaps he needs a little push. A little wriggling worm to seal the deal.

"One of them got away, you know?" Cinder said.

His head snapped up, "What do you mean?"

"What else? You had a rat in your midst." Cinder purred, sliding her hands over his shoulder and enjoying his shuddering.

The man's face hardened. "I hope you have proof. I will not tolerate you speaking ill of my people."

"Oh yes. In fact," she snapped her fingers.

A Grimm Seer floated down from the darkness above, and Adam visibly recoiled in horror. Cinder chuckled at his visceral reaction.

"How long has that thing been here? Have you have been watching me all this time?" Adam snarled, "You bitch! I should-"

"Settle. Down." Cinder tightened her grip around his shoulders. The air around them started to heat up. Her human eye blazed, literally. "Our mistress has no interest in your bedroom activities. It is a way of communication, nothing more."

"You expect me to believe that?" Adam snarled.

Cinder looked him dead in the eye, "Do you honestly think there is reception out there? Can you imagine our mistress on a scroll swiping away? Get a hold of yourself, fool, and focus on the important issues."

With a wave of her hand, the bulbous orb of the Seer started to glow.

Murky shadows swirled within the creature's head. Slowly, images resolved themselves.

It had a direct view of the bright interior of an elevator, albeit slightly obscured by the vents. The door opened, and a masked man stepped in rifle raised.

"Clear!" He barked.

Footsteps, and more people entered the elevator.

Two other masked men. A boy, and-

"Fucking knew it," Adam growled, "it's Schnee again."

"Oh, but it gets better." Cinder said. She looked at Adam's face. She wanted to see how he would react. She wanted to savor this moment, the moment where someone realises that they have been betrayed.

A sixth figure stepped through. Her movements were timid and uncertain. Adam's eyes widened in shock, and his breath hitched.

"Ilia," Adam breathed, "Oh Ilia. What have you done?"


	4. Life Carries On

**Life Carries On**

_1100  
_ _Main Operating Base Elysia, Atlas_

  
"Are you still angry at me?"

Winter put down her pen and took off her glasses. She set them delicately on the table, folded her arms theatrically, and faced away, nose held high up in the air. "Perhaps,"

It was times like this Qrow membered that Winter had been, for all intents and purposes, the closest equivalent to royalty in modern Atlesian society. The gesture was elegant, rehearsed, and painfully monarch-like.

"Come on, Ice Queen. It has been an entire week." Qrow grinned, "I'm dying for some attention here."

"I can do another week more," Winter suggested, "Or perhaps I can go a month. Jungle warfare training was longer. You survived just fine then."

Qrow grimaced. Winter had come back exceptionally thin and lean after those particular months of training. The rainforest conditions of West Mistral were unique in the harshest sense of the word.

"Nevertheless, Qrow," Winter huffed, "why didn't you tell me?"

"That I can turn into a bird and it the powers were bestowed graciously upon me and my sister by a reincarnating immortal wizard that has walked the face of Remnant alongside the Brothers?"

"Well," Winter sighed, "if you put it like that…"

"See? I wouldn't even get a chance to prove myself before you put me away!"

"Do you really think I would do that, Qrow?" Winter gave him _the look._

Qrow raised his hands up in surrender, "Not _now,_ of course. But imagine if I told you 5, or 6 years back."

Winter thought about it for a moment, before nodding, "I suppose. At the very least I'd dismiss it as unique and special semblance. _Then_ throw you into a padded room."

"Even if I did prove it," Qrow said, "the very fact that Jimmy did not breath a word of it to you meant that-"

"-that he didn't trust me." Winter cut in, her tone suddenly bitter. Qrow kicked himself. It was obvious she had thought about why too. Winter, despite her achievements in life, had deeply rooted self-worth issues.

"-that he didn't want to involve you," Qrow corrected.

Winter gave a wry smile, not believing it for a second.

Qrow drew in close to Winter, and offered his hand. Winter wrapped her fingers around his, and once again Qrow wondered how such delicate hands were capable of such violence.

"Jimmy trusted you with his life, Winter," Qrow said softly, "you should know that more than anyone."

"I know,"

"But, he never told you how he got those cybernetics, did he?"

Winter shook her head.

"It isn't a story for me to tell, even when he's gone," Qrow said squeezing her hand, "but if Ozpin thinks you and the boys are ready, then they are ready."

Winter shrugged, "I don't know if I want to, though."

Qrow frowned, "Why is that?"

Winter withdrew her hands. Qrow didn't like where this was going.

"I am not a Huntsman, not anymore at least," Winter said, unwilling to meet his eye, "his war against the Grimm, or Salem, doesn't concern me."

"What?" Qrow stared at her in disbelief, sharper than he intended.

"I'm not going to help Ozpin in his eternal feud, Qrow," Winter said calmly, "You are asking me to send my boys into a war fought with magic and sorcery against an enemy that is akin to a god." She looked Qrow in the eye. He saw the familiar steely determination of her made-up mind. Somehow, it hurt, as if Winter had just stabbed him in the heart. "I cannot in good conscience do that, Qrow."

"Winter," Qrow sat up straighter in his seat, his voice getting louder, "we are talking about a war against the greatest evil in Remnant history. The Grimm-"

"- didn't kill my family. It wasn't the Grimm that crippled Whitley. It wasn't the Grimm that drove my men onto this path of hatred, revenge, and damnation," Winter cut in smoothly, "It was ordinary everyday people like you and me." She jabbed a finger at her own chest to emphasize the point.

Qrow didn't know how to respond, so he said nothing.

"I am humbled that Ozpin thinks that I am capable enough," Winter said, shifting to her default polite yet firm tone usually reserved for strangers, "but I am no longer an Atlas Military Huntsman. I am a Legionnaire, a team leader of a team that doesn't exist on paper." Her eyes softened, "I'm sorry Qrow."

"Is this why you had been avoiding me?" Qrow asked.

Winter broke eye contact, "I knew it will wound you, Qrow. Ozpin to you is what General Ironwood was to me. If the roles were reserved…"

Qrow snorted.

"I'm really sorry, Qrow. I honestly am," Winter repeated, timider than he'd like, "especially after all you have done for me, I cannot risk the others."

"Those boys will walk into hell and back for you, Winter," Qrow pointed out, "they already have on a few occasions."

"Then you know _damn well_ a few of them didn't make it back out with me, Qrow," Winter said sharply. Qrow recoiled, knowing he had stepped on a landmine. Winter took a deep breath, and sighed, "This conversation is over, Qrow. I'll tell Ozpin myself."

Qrow sat back and sighed. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander for a few seconds. He understood, of course. He was still disappointed, but once Winter made up her mind there was little chance of convincing her otherwise.

He sat back up, "It's alright Ice Queen," Qrow smiled. He held out his hand.

Winter hesitated, but still took it. She squeezed.

Qrow beamed. Everything was still alright.

In a sense, he was relieved. He had thought about how different his life would be if Summer Rose had rejected Ozpin's call. How many more people would still be alive and here with him today.

While Winter still walked a path of thorns, just not the one set by Ozpin.

"Let's take Ozpin out for a bite, eh?"

"Huh?" Winter looked at him, surprised.

"It's easier to convince him when he's fed and caffeinated. Plus-," Qrow tugged on Winter's fingers, "- you didn't eat breakfast."

"As long as I'm paying," Winter smiled back.

* * *

_1230  
_ _Atlas-Mantle Terminal 2, Mantle_

  
The small quaint restaurant was bustling with activity and was filled to the brim with the workers of Mantle. The three men often visited this particular restaurant, as the owner – a balding shopkeep that never seems to open his eyes full- hailed from Vale. The food was almost familiar, and most importantly, affordable enough.

"Do you remember Velvet?" Asked Cardin over lunch.

"Velvet?" Russel replied, "Garnet Velvet? The Beacon canteen lady that gives you way too many peas?"

"No you idiot," Cardin laughed, "Velvet! Velvet Scarlatina! Faunus girl, rabbit ears, one year above us. How the fuck did you remember that canteen lady anyway?"

Russel shrugged, "I hold grudges, Cardin. You should know by now."

"Yeah, I certainly remember the time you almost choked to death on peas."

"Did I?" Russel asked, with a touch of concern.

"Sky and Dove held you down and I punched you in the gut so hard I got a face full of half-digested shit."

"Shit, I did, didn't I?" Russel whispered in horror, his suppressed memories suddenly resurfacing. "Shit!"

Ren chuckled quietly at them, "You're like an old married couple, you know that?"

"I'm not sure if I should be offended." Said Cardin.

"I'm not sure which one of us should be _more_ offended," Russel added.

"I remember her, this Velvet," Ren pointed accusingly at Cardin and Russel, "your two assholes used to pull on her ears at lunch."

"I remember that one!" Russel snapped his fingers. He paused, frowning as he recalled his time at Beacon. Ren could almost see the man sifting through his memories. "Wait, which one? Cardin pulled a lot of ears back then."

Cardin buried his face in his hands. "Man we were dicks."

"We still are," Russel said.

"Quiet, you."

"What's this about Velvet, then?" Ren asked, suddenly curious.

"I saw her in Mantle a few days ago," Cardin shrugged, "went up to say hi."

"And how did it go?" Russel pressed, knowing the answer by how Cardin's mouth thinned,

"Oh you know," Cardin glanced at Ren, "Bout' as well as you'd expect if you meet the dickhead that fucked with you for an entire semester."

Russel laughed loudly, drawing the attention of other tables by his sudden outburst. Ren snorted, shaking his head.

"I don't know what I expected," Russel wheezed, "what _were_ you expecting, Cardin?"

"Just trying to make peace, I guess," Cardin shrugged sheepishly, "but not everything works out."

Ren sympathized but held his tongue. Whatever lashing Cardin got, be it verbal or physical, Cardin at least knew he deserved it. Else he would have been complaining a lot louder.

Ren looked at his scroll, "Right, I better get going if I want to get to Argus and back by night," He waved to the waiter, and gestured for the bill.

"Damn, here I was thinking of another mochi ice cream." Cardin mourned.

"You'll end up looking like a mochi ice cream." Russel snorted.

Cardin laughed. He patted his stomach, "Pure muscle, this! Abs glorious enough to rival our team leader's!"

"Well if you keep lifting those weights, soon you'll have tits to rival our team lea- ow!" Russel hissed as Ren stamped down _hard_ on his squad mate's shoe.

"What was that for?" Russel demanded, but then he noticed Ren staring behind him.

He felt a gaze burning the back of his head, and Russel suddenly felt his chances of surviving the day drop drastically.

"What were you saying, Thrush?" A voice sounded behind him. Russel could hear the cold smile.

A shiver ran down the man's spine, as cold and harsh as the snow on the highest peaks of Mantle. Russel turned to face Winter and Qrow looming over him. Ozpin was there too, his face frozen with apprehension.

"M-ma'am! What a pleasant surprise to see you join us lowly grunts in Mantle!"

"Carry on the conversation, Legionnaire," Winter smiled, her eyes narrowed. The temperature around them seemed to drop significantly, "By all means don't stop on my account."

"I- uh," Russel was sweating profusely despite the cold, "I'm dead, aren't I? Should I save everyone the trouble and cap myself?"

Winter inspected her nails and mulled over his fate, as an Emperor would to a defeated Mistrali gladiator, "You know what. The day is nice. The sun is out and it's not snowing."

Russel began to relax.

"But," Winter continued, "sloppy situational awareness. All of you, gear up and meet me at the kill house. Let's sharpen those skills."

"Yes ma'am," the three men chorused.

Ren visibly deflated, and Russel clasped his hands together in apology, "Sorry Ren. I fucked up."

"Fork over some Lien and I'll forget about it."

"Damn,"

Without another word, Winter turned on her heels and strutted off. Ozpin cast them a look of pity and followed. Qrow glared down at Russel, but there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, "You said that at the wrong time, kid. Just plain bad luck she heard it." Qrow looked back to make sure Winter was far enough before turning back to wink at them. "But you aren't wrong. Lucky me, eh?"

Qrow jogged off before the boys could process what he said.

* * *

_1300  
_ _Elysium CQB Facility "Kill House", Atlas_

  
The team moved down the corridor, guns panning and sweeping, covering every single corner and angle as they advanced.

The kill house was immense and was currently configured to be similar to an apartment complex in Mantle. Cold blue light lit the dusty corridors, shining through the thick layer of dust kicked up by the three pairs of boots. Empty rooms lined the corridor, some with doors ajar and some locked shut.

The target could be in any of these rooms, on any of the 5 stories of this kill house.

They swept each room, Ren covering the back of the corridor as the other two breached and swept each room.

This was the 19th room they had breached this round, and they were out of stun grenades. Cardin smashed the door in with a boot. Before the door was fully open, Russel was already through the breach, his firearm ready and sweeping.

A halo of light lit up the entire room, blinding Russel for a brief second as his corneas fought to adjust.

He was the first to get shot.

A streaking projectile whizzed through the air and detonated onto his chest in an explosion of white powder. Russel was flung backward, cracking his head into the wall.

Cardin was hot on Russel's heels, his firearm roared back several times, but he could not see the target at all past the eye-watering glow.

Ren rushed in and they fanned out, searching for their target. The room was a jungle of old office cubicles and half rusted cabinets. The target could be anywhere at once, pop up at any time, and take out any of them with just one shot.

A flash of white hair from the cubicle on the other side of the room. Ren narrowly dodged the shot aimed for his head.

Ren and Cardin charged forwards, Ren leaping over the desks and Cardin simply barraging through the obstacles. Dust and paper scattered in the air as the pair fired, hoping to keep their target down.

Another flash of white hair, and Cardin roared in frustration as their target twisted and danced beneath their projectiles, and out into another room.

Cardin kicked aside an offending desk, destroying it in a splinter of rotten wood, as he thundered headfirst into the other room weapon raised.

As he barrelled through the door, a hand smacked Cardin's rifle up. The rifle shot uselessly into the roof, showering the pair in a puff of shattered brick and concrete.

Ren hesitated, not wanting to hit Cardin. That hesitation cost him.

Winter spun the large man around and fired her own gun, the dummy round cracked straight into Ren's cheekbone and dropped him like a puppet with its strings cut loose.

In one smooth motion, Winter kicked out Cardin's feet and flipped the roaring man onto his back. Disengaging, she leveled her firearm at Cardin.

Cardin blinked, confused and surprised, before sheepishly raising his hands.

Winter fired a shot into his stomach, then another into his thigh as he howled and curled into a ball.

She lowered her aim, "Check your damn corners, Winchester." She looked up and shouted, "Reset!"

Ren and Russel got up from the floor as the scenario ended, a layer of white powder coating their black uniforms. Ren spat out a glob of blood and checked the integrity of his teeth. Their bruises already healing from Aura.

"Alright boys," Winter reloaded the dummy rifle, "let's run this through a few more times."

They repeated the scenario, again and again, each time with different settings and different scenarios. In one scenario, Atlesian Knights- painted orange and white and armed with the same dummy launchers- were scattered through the complex to simulate the team attacking a stronghold. Another run, this time with live ammunition, Winter acted as the "hostage" in a rescue scenario. The team had nailed three simultaneous headshots on three different targets, uncomfortably close to Winter's head.

They went on for hours, until their sweat left white marks of dried mineral on their black fatigues. Until the sun set and until Qrow forcibly ended the training session for dinner.

Ozpin watched the entire training process, impassively watching his former students go through thousands of rounds of ammunition, live and dummy, in nightmare scenarios that would make the most veteran Huntsman team hesitate.

Winter had told him that they were not suited for his missions, that they were not hunters of Grimm anymore. That their skillsets were too different to be an effective force, unlike the senior members of his inner circle.

Winter wasn't lying. They weren't Huntsmen anymore. They are killers, and damn good ones at that too. This impromptu training session was to demonstrate that fact.

However, Qrow and Winter were both wrong on one aspect.

There was no one else better suited for the job than killers of men.

All she needed, was a little push.

Ozpin wondered if Leonardo Lionheart was still alive. While Leonardo was a shell of his former self, he still had his uses.

Maybe this will be one of them.

* * *

_0800  
_ _SDC Manor, Atlas_

  
The SDC Manor was not what it used to be.

Whitley called it home, but he knew his sisters had a vastly different outlook. He supposes he could understand why. Perhaps, to them, there were too many memories, many of them unpleasant, still echoing in the halls.

Still, it was his home. Sometimes, when Whitley closes his eyes, he could imagine that his family was still alive. His father, in his office, working. His mother, locked up in her room, drinking. Weiss, in her own room, practicing her many talents.

But now, the manor was not as empty as before.

No longer was it just the personal palace of the Schnee family, a monument to their financial success.

Children, both faunus and human, now strode along the hallways. Their pattering of their shoes ringing loudly along the large halls. A bell chimed, the short tune now familiar to Whitley's ears, signaling the start of class. Eventually, the sounds of life died down, and the halls were silent once again. Laughter and chatter gave warmth to the once cold halls of the Schnee Manor, even during the quiet hours.

The SDC Manor was no longer a manor at all.

It now provided education and training to family members of SDC employees, almost completely paid for by the company.

It wasn't limited to those residing in Atlas, in fact, the majority of the students have family residing in Mantle. Those that could afford to live in Atlas usually sent their children to other more established institutions. But for the workers in Mantle, it was a golden opportunity.

Whitley's close brush with death made one thing very clear to his young mind. They were all equal in death. The wealth and comforts his father had hoarded and built up all suddenly felt hollow and meaningless. It had scarred him, physically as well as mentally.

Despite all the advancements in Atlas technology, there was no replacement for the nervous system.

"Master Whitley,"

The exoskeleton supporting Whitley's legs whirred and purred as he stood up from his desk, "Yes, Klein?"

Klein, the Schnee family's ever-faithful butler stood in at the entrance of Whitley's study. He was in a good mood today, Whitley could tell, "I was just informed that Master Winter will be making her way back to the manor within the hour,"

The man was getting old, Whitley could plainly see. The wrinkles on his forehead had gotten deeper, and whatever hair the butler had remaining was slowly greying. But he had been with them since Winter was a child, and effectively hand raised the current generation of the Schnee family.

Arguably, the loss of Weiss affected the poor man more than it did Whitley.

"Thank you for informing me, Klein," Whitley took off his spectacles, "is she bringing any guests around this time?"

"Apart from her usual companion, I was informed that there will be…someone that needs to keep a low profile."

"Oh?" Whitley looked up, "we haven't gotten those in a while."

"Indeed, sir," Klein cocked his eyebrow, "with your permission-"

Whitley waved him off, "You know these matters better than I do, Klein. Place this person as you see fit."

"Very well, Master Whitley."

Whitley nodded, "Let me know when they pass the gates. I have a brief meeting coming up soon."

"Very good, Master Whitley."

As Klein left, Whitley poked his head out of his office, "Mr Winchester. If you please."

Cardin Winchester stood up from his seat, tossing aside the magazine he was reading, "I overheard. TL is coming over?"

TL meant team leader, to Whitley's understanding. It aggravated him sometimes when the military types spoke in their abbreviations and codes. But of course, Whitley never expressed his frustrations. The man towered over Whitley and was easily twice his size and weight in muscle, after all.

"Yes, Winter will be coming over for some business. But not to worry, our meeting won't take long."

Whitley locked his exoskeleton as he sat down, forming an improvised chair. He gestured for Cardin to take a seat too.

"Now," Whitley began, "your daughter's-"

"For the last time, she's not my daughter," Cardin grumbled.

Whitley ignored him, "-academic performance is cause for concern. Let us begin by reviewing..."

* * *

The weeks after Ilia's extraction had been hectic, to say the least. Ozpins revelations coupled with squeezing every bit of information from Ilia and the piles of paperwork required had drained Winter more than any combat encounter.

Behind the wheel of the car, Qrow Branwen yawned. Winter stifled a snigger, arched an eyebrow, and shot him a questioning look. Even Ilia, seated at the back, drifting in and out of half sleep.

"Too early for you?"

"Damn you military types and your unreasonable hours," Qrow grumbled, "getting too old for this."

In truth, Winter was tired too. The bags under her eyes seem to be a permanent feature now. But in a way, she was used to it.

"Sorry," Winter said, patting the man on the thigh, "I'll get one of the boys to do it next time."

"No, no," Qrow shook his head, "you know I just want to spend time with you."

"Oh wait," Winter clicked her tongue, "I'm not supposed to be talking to you."

"Winter," Qrow groaned, "I thought we resolved that yesterday."

"Hmm," Winter thought back, "oh right. Yes, so we did."

"Getting old too," Qrow laughed as he pulled up to the gate of the Schnee Manor.

He rolled down the window and waved at the security guard posted at the front. They let the car in once they caught sight of Winter.

The manor used the most lavish display of wealth and power even by Atlas standards. Then again, the Schnee manor used to house only one family and their servants. Now, at least 300 students and staff roamed the palace-like hallways, with a good number of them living in rooms converted into dorms.

From the back seat, Ilia had snapped awake and almost had her face pressed to the window. She drank in the details, gazing wide-eyed at the regal architecture. It was everything she had imagined as a child, and even more. She looked up when she sensed Winter's gaze.

"Remember, you are no longer legally Ilia Amitola," Winter reminded, "you are now Catalina Ivo, as you wished."

It would take some time getting used to being called her mother's name, but somehow it felt appropriate. Ilia smiled, a pang of sadness shot through her heart.

How many lives had been wasted for her to come back onto a peaceful life?

Too many, Ilia concluded. But it won't be for nothing.

"Thank you, Winter. For everything." Ilia said.

"You have done us a great service, whether you are aware or not," Winter returned the smile. It seemed genuine. Ilia decided she liked the woman when she wasn't on the job. "I'll discuss details with my brother, but for the first few months, you are to lay low within the manor. You will be compensated for the work that you do."

Ilia's parents worked in the SDC mines too, and they had died there. Ilia was aware of the poor conditions and treatment the workers get, especially the faunus. Yet here she was.

Ilia could taste the irony.

Winter smiled, "Don't worry. Whitley is not my father."

"Was it that obvious?" Ilia managed an embarrassed laugh.

"An educated guess," Winter admitted.

"How long will I be staying?" Ilia asked.

"Until we are certain you are off the radar," Winter shrugged, "might be a month, might be a year. But you will have time to plan your next move."

"My next move…" Ilia swallowed. She had dedicated a good portion of her life to the White Fang, but she hadn't really thought of what to do after the fighting was done.

Now that she had given up the fighting, that time was suddenly a lot closer than she had anticipated.

The car slowed to a stop.

"Remember, though," Winter said as she got out of the vehicle, "if you do tire of civilian life, or have trouble adjusting, you are always welcome to try out for the team. Pass selection, and we will be working together once again."

Ilia grimaced at the thought, "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

_1500  
_ _Mistral-Mantle Port, Argus  
_

  
It was a short flight from Atlas to Argus. The Atlas military often has flights to and fro, and civilian transport ships sailed between the two landmasses periodically. The costs were reasonably low, especially for Huntsmen or Atlas government-affiliated personnel, and Ren took full advantage of that.

Ren strode out past the gates of the Atlas base. He nodded to the soldiers on duty, and waved at the poor recruits patrolling the area.

He went and bought a bundle of flowers, the best he could find. They were fresh, the brightly colored pink petals still had droplets of water still on them. He had paid a good amount of lien for it. He wore his sharpest suit for this occasion and prepared a stack of freshly cooked and packed pancakes.

It was Nora's birthday, and he wanted to look the best he could. It felt stupid because they had known each other for their entire lives, but Ren felt like he owed it to her to at least look the part.

The lady in the flower shop always smiled and lamented how she missed young love. Every year she would ask who the lucky girl is, and that she would love to meet her. Ren would always smile and say the same words to her politely, "It's complicated."

It wasn't complicated, but Ren had not corrected the old lady for the first few years. It was too late to clarify now.

The Argus columbarium sat close to the ocean, up high upon the mountains overlooking the city of Argus, far away from the bustling noise of everyday life.

Ashes of the dead rested on this piece of land.

It was peaceful here, but in the sombre sense. Sometimes when he visited, Ren would feel as if he was standing in the middle of a silent crowd. Other times, the stillness of the columbarium unnerved him, as even the crashing waves seem to be muted on this sacred soil.

There were always visitors. It was a large columbarium after all, and a good amount of the dead seemed to come from the continent of Solitas, across the ocean. Hundreds of them, their lives all cut short in the same year, almost 16 years ago.

Ren knows little of the past. He has actively wondered about the tragedy for almost 5 years, but he never got a direct answer. An oddity, for sure, but not entirely unnatural.

Hundreds of people vanish all the time, be it from bandits or Grimm. Ren would know.

As Ren walked through the columbarium, passing rows and rows of black plaques, he found his usual spot taken. Unusual, but then again this month always had more visitors throughout the year.

A man and a woman stood in front of Ren's destination. The man was in a black suit and the woman in a full black dress. Ren couldn't see the woman's face, as it was covered in an opaque black mourning veil.

Were they here to visit family too?

The man turned to face Ren.

His face was half bandaged as if he had been wounded in battle, covering everything but one of his eyes. Ren could see the black horns jutting from beneath his fiery red hair, poking through the bandages. He had the most brilliant blue eye.

A sword dangled from his hips, its black sheath exquisite and beautiful. A wounded huntsman, Ren concluded.

"Can I help you, sir?" The man asked, courteous but wary.

"Apologies, I am simply waiting for my turn." Ren gestured the plaque above.

"Ah," the man smiled sadly, "forgive me, then. It won't take long."

"Take as long as you need, sir." Ren nodded, "I understand."

He watched the bandaged man kneel and run a gloved hand across a name plaque.

"Hey, mum…" he began. Ren stepped away to give the man some privacy.

The woman accompanying him, however, was an oddity.

Even through her black veil, Ren could feel her eyes on him. There was something painfully familiar about her too. Perhaps he had met her somewhere before.

Perhaps he should take a peek, maybe her emotions will sho- no. Ren will not activate his semblance. The Columbarium is not a place for such actions, no matter how much his instincts screamed for him to do so.

The man was true to his word. He left shortly after, giving Ren a small nod of acknowledgment.

He watched as the pair left, frowning slightly as the woman hesitantly ran a gloved hand across the name plaque above the one the man was talking to. Perhaps she couldn't see that well in the veil.

Ren stepped up, "Hey, Nora." Ren said, "Happy birthday."

Ren put on a smile, forcing his facial muscles up.

"It has been a while since I visited. I brought you pancakes." He lifted the packed deserts, and with his other, he held aloft his bundle of flowers, "Flowers too, of course."

He eyed the name plaque below Nora's.

_Eve Taurus. Loving Mother and Daughter._ This woman had died 16 years ago, one of the hundreds in this columbarium.

Ren banished any lingering questions in his mind. He was here for Nora. Ren rolled out a mat and placed the offerings in front.

"I know I said I would come and visit more often. Forgive me, Nora. Duty called. I even went all the way to Menagerie," Ren huffed as he knelt on the ground, "It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. You would have hated the humidity there. Bugs, rain, mud, everything."

"I wanted to visit earlier, but you know how it is. Training sessions at the drop of a hat to keep us prepared. Russel fucked me over for that trip. Thank the Brothers it didn't happen today, I would have shot him."

He lapsed into silence. Distant thunder rumbled.

"Sorry," He shook his head.

"Hey," Ren looked up, "Remember the promise we made to each other when we were 8?"

"Yeah, in that lightning split willow tree, when we finally ran away from that awful place."

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the scene, to pretend as if 18 years had not passed in a blink of an eye.

She had always been small. Scared and timid. His heart ached when he remembered the bruises she had tried to hide from him and a flash of anger at his younger self for not realizing what had been going on sooner.

He remembered when they huddled in the empty bark of that willow tree. Nora's eyes, puffy and red from bawling her heart out. She had suffered so much in that wretched place, and he had been blind to it.

They had held onto each other for hours, shivering from the cold Mistral night. Unsure if they were going to make it to the next village, or die alone and forgotten in the wilderness.

He had not forgotten a single detail.

"What if this is our life?" Nora had whispered, her voice hoarse, "What if we never find anyone?"

"Then I'll stay with you," Ren had said, "as I had till now."

"I'm just afraid, Ren," he remembered her shaking, "I'm afraid that I just blew it for you. You had a chance to get adopted, to finally have a family. If it wasn't for me you might have even-"

"I don't want it."

"Ren?"

"I want to stay with you."

Her eyes had widened, surprised and bewildered.

Ren had not even known what he was saying back then too. His young mind had been desperate to make his one and only companion happy.

"When we are old! Like, super big and strong! Yea!" Ren had sputtered, desperate to see Nora smile, "We'll be the ones doing the adopting! You and me, together-together!"

She had giggled, and it had been the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

"Yeah. I wish we could keep that too."

Ren opened his eyes. Nora was not here. Of course, she had never been.

The past was gone, like ashes scattered into the wind.

* * *

_0000  
_ _Mantle Port, Mantle_

  
As the final airship departed from Mantle on their return flight to Argus, Fiona Thyme and Joanna Greenleaf prepared to meet their client.

The Happy Huntresses have been operating in Mantle ever since their graduation from Atlas Academy. From their academy days, they had striven and worked towards one purpose: to help the people of Mantle through any means necessary.

Maybe living down in the slums of Mantle had altered the perspectives of Fiona's teammates, but her goal has not changed since she signed up to become a Huntress in Atlas Academy. Perhaps that was why Robyn Hill trusted her the most.

But Robyn Hill's days of raiding Atlas supplies and breaking Atlas law was over. She couldn't be seen doing such things now that she was in the Council, and it was a miracle that none of their high profile misadventures had been tied back to Robyn herself.

Now, as Robyn Hill sits in Atlas, the Happy Huntresses have become somewhat of her shadow hand. Operations range from stamping out exploitive criminal rings, to redistributing "commandeered" resources that were bound for Atlas.

Smuggling people through the border is one they often do too. The multicultural aspect of Solitas meant it was almost impossible to separate the natives and legal immigrants from the illegal ones.

With a little bit of lien passed under the table, anyone could be registered as someone who has lived their entire lives in Mantle.

Tonight, they had one such case. A large group of people, wanting to start a new life in Mantle with the hopes of making it in Atlas. It wasn't going to be easy, but there were plenty of success stories out there.

Mantle Port was crowded, a sign of a poor economy. Ships would rather pay to dock than run cargo, as that would cost less. Distant ship lights shimmered brightly in the distance, almost like stars in a moonless night. Only a handful of ships have come in and out from Argus Port to Mantle. The last shipment of the day, was their client.

As soon as Fiona laid eyes on her client stepping out from the ship, something in the back of her mind went off. She wasn't sure what it was, the gentleman looked normal enough, even despite the head injury he kept wrapped up in bandages.

Her partner, Joanna Greenleaf, shared the same sentiment.

"I'm not so sure about this one, Fi," Joanna grumbled, "I don't like the look of the guy."

"Hush," Fiona whispered, "just let me do the talking."

She strode forwards, putting on her trademark smile and cheerful demeanour. No doubt these people had a long and hard journey, so the least she could do is put on a smile.

"I'm Fiona Thyme," Said Fiona, walking up to the man getting out of the leased car, "Are you, Adam Scarl Tanner?"

The faunus man nodded,"Yes." He turned back to help a woman that trailed behind, her face veiled in black silk. Fiona had not seen her at all, for her dark clothes seem to blend into the night despite Fiona's faunus vision. A shiver ran down her spine, and it took all of her will not to physically recoil at her presence.

It's a cultural thing from some parts of Vale, she remembered suddenly and quickly worked to suppress any shock that she might have shown on her face. Fiona didn't know where that reaction came from, but she mentally chided herself for the rude thoughts.

"A pleasure, sir," Fiona opted to bow instead of a handshake. It might offend his woman.

"Likewise, Ms. Thyme," his singular exposed eye was not on Fiona as he replied.

"We will begin with the unloading soon," Fiona began, "worry not, Mr Tanner. You aren't the first batch to cross into Mantle, and you won't be the last."

Adam smiled coldly, "A lot of clients? I didn't know Mantle is such a popular destination."

"You would be surprised, Mr Tanner. You have made the right choice in asking the Happy Huntresses for help," Fiona smiled sweetly, "While Mantle still has its problems, I can assure you it has improved leaps and bounds since-"

"Since the protests?" Adam snorted, "It's not that high of a bar."

"You're from Mantle." Fiona stated.

"I was in the thick of it back then," Adam nodded, "but now I'm back."

Fiona grimaced. He was right in a sense. No one outside of Solitas knew of the protest turned massacre. Many of the younger generations have no idea it happened at all. It was Atlas's unspoken stain in history. Information suppression worked wonders.

"You are right, of course," Fiona conceded, "and that is why I am doing what I am doing. Us Happy Huntresses?" She thumped her chest for emphasis, "We were formed exactly to ensure Atlas never oversteps that drastically again." She forced a bright smile, "But believe me when I say, Mantle is leaps and bounds better than what it was two decades ago."

The man nodded as if satisfied. The other woman was oddly silent, and unnervingly still, almost like a flesh statue. Fiona stole a glance, but her eyes failed to penetrate the black veil.

"Now! Without further ado," Fiona gestured for the pair to follow her, "welcome back to Mantle! Let's get your friends out."

Joanna leaned in close to Fiona's ear, "Bit of an ass, isn't he?"

"Quiet," Fiona hissed, "might hear you."

"His friend creeps me out."

"They are mourning, Joan," Fiona said, "I've seen some people from Vale do it. Must have lost someone on their journey here"

"Still creeps me out."

"Hush," Fiona snapped.

Joanna just shrugged.

The offloading process was slow but smooth. Shipment containers were stacked in their designated areas by giant lumbering stripped-down Paladins. Decommissioned Atlesian knights handled most of the logistics and mundane tasks, and Fiona took this chance to observe her client a bit more.

There were 6 of them, including Adam and his partner. They were all faunus, and kept to themselves. There was an unusual intensify radiating off them, like they were on alert.

Fiona's heart broke at the sight. No doubt her kin had suffered greatly for the simple fact of being a faunus. If Adam was born in Mantle, life outside the kingdom of Atlas must be even harsher than she realized if he's coming back here. Even after having lived through the protests.

A singular shipping container, painted forest green and sporting the logo of an obscure shipping company, was singled out by the droids, and placed on a cargo truck.

This was their queue. Fiona signalled Joanna, and directed her to the designated warehouse.

Fiona turned to her clients, "Now, if you follow me. We will begin the process in a more discreet location. Joanna is a talented medic as well as a huntress, if anyone needs medical treatment, then we will immediately provide it."

"Quite a complete package, for the price we paid," one of them said, a tall man with bat wings remarked.

"Quiet, Yuma," Adam snapped.

"It's quite alright," Fiona smiled, "the costs paid cover what is strictly required. Bribes, equipment, droids, and so forth. We are not here to make a profit, sir."

"Droids?"

"They will be scrapped after we use them," Fiona clarified, "we don't want to leave any trace back to our clients in their data cores."

"Impressive," Yuma folded his arms, "Hard to get people like you in these days."

Fiona beamed and bowed. "Now, shall we?"

They arrived at the designated warehouse in leased vehicles driven by droids. Joanna had already started the unloading process with the help of several droids. Joanna had connected the container up to the power source, just as she could if they were shipping crates of fresh food supplies.

Fiona's heart skipped when she saw what was being unloaded. Fury, hot and heavy, flowed like poison through her veins. There were very few things that set her off like this.

"Cryo pods, huh?" Joanna remarked, her nose cringing with distaste.

"Mr. Tanner," Fiona turned to the man, "if I may be so bold to ask."

"Is there a problem?"

Fiona hesitated, "Who was your fixer in Argus?"

Adam frowned, "Why is that relevant?"

Fiona gestured at the unloading pods, pointing with her thumb, "These, are cryo pods. Mortuary boxes, Mr. Tanner. Used to preserve and transport corpses between Kingdoms."

Adam nodded, his face unreadable, "I see."

"They were not designed for living beings, Mr. Tanner," Fiona continued, her voice shaking, "the injury and survival rate-"

Adam cut her off with a hand, "Please, Ms. Thyme. I appreciate the concern. But let us continue."

For a moment, Fiona was at a loss for words. What was this man saying? Joanna was a good medic, but they were woefully underequipped for any cryo related injuries. They weren't the first people to have been smuggled in by mortuary boxes. However, many leave the cryo conditions with crippling injuries, and some won't even wake up at all.

At first, Fiona thought Adam and his compatriots must have been tricked. They were faunus, and there was no shortage of people out there that will deliberately pull this kind of malicious trick on them.

But his reaction was too cold, too measured. Like it was deemed an acceptable risk. It reminded her too much of certain Atlesian groups when they knowingly consign people to their deaths.

Fiona bit her lips, hard enough for her Aura to kick in. They were on a time limit, and the further she dallies on the lower the chances are for the refugees in the pods.

Wordlessly, she nodded to Joanna. The process began.

Joanna broke the shipping seal and fiddled with the complex locking mechanism. The cryo pod disengaged with a hiss, like the last breaths of a dying man. Fiona felt her gorge rise as a pungent, cloying smell filled the air.

The smell of death.

"Aw fuck," Joanna cursed as she gagged, "Shit, shit, shit!"

Fiona clenched her fists. There must have been a malfunction with the cryo pod units.

The pod hissed open, revealing a mutilated man.

A young man, bloodless and pale. There were vicious claw marks ripping through the front of his chest, and a single glance told Fiona the man had fallen in combat.

Joanna looked Fiona quizzically before disengaging another cryo pod.

Another corpse. A woman, this time missing an entire arm.

"Seems like a shipment of fallen Huntsmen to me, Fi," Joanna said, "shit they barely look like they graduated from the academies."

"Keep looking, Joan." Fiona cast a baleful look at Adam, "I'm going to have a few words with our client here."

"Fi, cal-"

"No!" Fiona snapped, "This is disgusting, disrespectful! I cannot-"

"Fi!" Joanna hissed. She looked her in the eye, "We'll let Robyn know. Let her deal with it. There are still people that need our help."

Fiona swallowed hard, then nodded. Joanna was right.

These bastards had packed legit corpses at the front end to throw off any inspections. The wounds were Grimm inflicted wounds. These people were most likely Huntsmen being shipped back to their home in Mantle and Atlas for final burial.

And they used their corpses to smuggle themselves into the border.

Fiona broke open the seal of another, and sighed, "Another dead one,"

A faunus, this time. Denoted by the scorpion tail that wrapped around his waist. Like the rest of the corpses, he was unnaturally pale. His skin was almost like the snow that covered Mantle. Black veins of poisoned old blood were painfully visible under his sheet white skin.

"Fi?" Joanna whispered.

"Yes?"

"This one is alive." Joanna looked at Fiona her eyes were wide with bewilderment. She pointed at the readings on her scroll, "Low vitals, barely registering. Doesn't look like coming out of cryo suspension, but more like sleeping."

"Equipment malfunction, Joan," Fiona bit her lips, "just look at his veins. Poisoned by a Death Stalker."

"I thin-" Joanna began. Then, she yelped in horror.

Joanna was already moving back and drawing out her crossbow. Fiona barely had the time to register the signature _thwip_ of a bolt being fired.

The corpse _moved._

It shot out of the cryo pod, a blur of white and black. The bolt was battered aside, and Joanna fell back, gurgling. Blood ran from her throat in a torrent, splashing like a waterfall on the warehouse floor. Her body flashed as her Aura feebly tried to kick in.

Fiona was moving before her mind registered anything. She leapt through the air, staff flashing in an overhead strike, her movements powered by Aura.

The Happy Huntresses were competent fighters, one of the best teams when they graduated. Had she been a lesser fighter, she wouldn't even have drawn her weapon.

But it wasn't enough.

The corpse thing twirled danced, hands glowing purple lashed out.

Her Aura gave way in an instant.

The crossbow staff clattered on the floor.

Fiona Thyme hung for a moment like a fish on a hook. Her legs kicked out weakly, as she struggled, gasping in pain. She grasped feebly at the scorpion stinger that had penetrated through her heart. Her mouth gagged open, as blood welled out over her chin.

Tyrian Callows, murderer, assassin, the Ripper of Anima, grinned as he brought the struggling woman closer to his face. His first act in Mantle was to rip the still-beating heart of Fiona Thyme out of her chest.


	5. Bared Fangs

**Bared Fangs**

_Unknown time  
_ _Unknown location  
  
_

Winter sat on top of an armoured carrier, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from her finger. Her hands trembled, but the sun has already peaked out from the horizon. It warmed her back, and defrosted her boots. The mountains were majestic, and if there was anything she didn't get tired of seeing, it was the beauty of nature in these quiet moments.

She was happy. Happy that she was home at last, with Qrow at her side. Winter frowned. Home…where is home? Where was she?

She felt the weight of strong arms around her body, the familiar scent of whiskey in her nose and the warmness of the thick blankets. She was home, at the Schnee manor, and not wherever this is.

But, there was nothing to fear.

Weiss slid in beside Winter. Her little sister rested her head on her shoulder; Winter tossed away the wretched cigarette and drew her into a hug. How she loved her so.

Odd, that Weiss was here with her in the mountains…or was it home?

Weiss says something, but the wind drowned out her soft words.

"What is it, Weiss?"

"They are waiting for you, Winter," she said, as she pointed behind.

Winter didn't turn around, but somehow she knew what was there. Hellfire raged behind her. Soldiers clambered up through the snow, shooting and suppressing the unseen enemy. More figures rose out of the snow, their hands gripped tightly around their rifles and they lumbered forward, into the tracer rounds that lit up the mountainside.

Winter can't hear the sounds of war. It was silent, muted.

"I don't want to leave you, Weiss," Winter said.

"But you can't stay,"

"Why is that?" Suddenly, Winter was terrified. She knew the answer. She gripped Weiss tightly, unwilling to let her go from her chest, "Please, Weiss. Just let me stay. I miss you so, so, much."

"I'm dead, Winter," Weiss said, her voice muffled within her chest, "you can't stay here."

The silence shatters with a piercing gunshot. Winter fell forwards, stumbling and falling like a new born, like her limbs felt like they were made of lead.

She was in the thick of it. The ear splitting roar of battle raged around her. Gunfire, screams, explosions. Winter searched frantically for a weapon, but there was nothing.

Weiss.

Weiss was in front of her. Blood soaked her white dress. She reached her hands out, grasping as if for comfort, for salvation. Winter tried to grab her, to save her.

A bright lance of light pierced through her skull.

Weiss swayed, a blossom of blood haloing her head. She looked almost divine. Like an angel. A fallen angel. Then, she hit the floor, dead.

* * *

_0300  
_ _Schnee Manor, Atlas_

  
Winter jolted awake.

Her bed was soaking wet, and she was shaking.

Her soul, it felt empty and numb. Winter feels nothing, like she was in the void floating and helpless.

Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn't dare bawl. She bit into the corners of her pillow as she stifled a sob.

The light snoring of Qrow barely registered beside her.

Winter crushed her emotions with an iron fist, and she turned her silent sobs into a snarl of anger. Too many times did she have the same dream, and too many times she had to suffocate the weakness bubbling up from inside her.

Winter wiggled slowly out from under Qrow's arms, not wanting to wake him. She checked her scroll. 0300 hours. It will be sunrise in a few hours.

Short days, long nights. She hated the dark.

Something was tugging in the back of her mind, and Winter knew it wasn't the dream.

Snatching her sidearm, one of the intricate revolver that once belonged to General Ironwood –Due Process-, she stalked out into the hall.

It was late at night. No one else should be around the house, save for a few staff members. But why was she on edge?

A distant sound echoed, so soft and muffled Winter had almost thought it was a figment of her imagination. She edged downstairs, gun braced.

The sound was coming from the kitchen. Movement. Winter ghosted in, gun first. The marbled floors were numbingly cold against her feet. The kitchen was empty, and the smell of dinner still lingered in the air.

The sound again, coming from the inner pantry.

Winter burst in, surprise speed and violence of an Atlas Legionnaire on full display.

Whitley yelped out in surprise and, to his credit, didn't drop the tray of leftovers he had been gorging on.

"By the Brothers above!" Whitley wailed, his exoskeleton screeching in protest, "Don't do that!"

Winter dropped her aim. All the tension in her body bled away in that instant. She tried to stifle a laugh of relief, but failed. She laughed, unrestrained and full-blown, the sound of it echoing through the kitchen and into the night.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Winter wheezed, "I thought..I had thought…." She couldn't continue, and just continued to laugh.

"I fancied a midnight snack," Whitley flushed, his cheeks red from being discovered, "I don't have a figure to keep!"

There was another presence in the room. Another, foreign entity. Winter spun around, pistol raised.

Ilia materialized out of the shadows, her arms raised in surrender. Lightning Lash hung loosely on her hips.

"I heard a noise," Ilia explained. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she was averting her gaze.

Suddenly, Winter realized how extremely underdressed she was.

"I-I'll take my leave." Ilia spun on her heels, and vanished into the darkness.

Winter looked at Whitley, and he shrugged.

"I see she is taking wonderfully to the security position."

"Like you would not believe," Whitley nodded. He paused, cocking his head. "Since you are up, tea?" Whitley offered.

Winter nodded, "I'll go put on some pants."

* * *

"Another bad dream?" Whitley asked as he poured Winter a cup of freshly brewed tea.

"Yeah," Winter said, "I get them every now and then. More often at home." she trailed off. She sipped the steaming hot cup of tea.

It was exquisite.

"Hmmm," Whitley nodded, "I get them too sometimes. But I don't get up with a loaded gun, Win."

Winter chuckled, "You know how it is, Whitley."

"I do, and I worry for you," Whitley admitted. He paused, hesitating. "Was it about…about Weiss?"

Winter nodded silently, "I saw her. I don't remember much of the details, but I saw her," Winter ran her palm across her face, "I miss her."

"I miss her too, Winter," Whitley whispered, "it hurts every time I think about her. The years I wasted thinking that she hated me. That you hated me." He looked up at Winter, his eyes were red, and shimmering with tears, "Then I remember the days before you left for the military. How close we were then. I didn't know why I ever thought-"

He wiped his eyes, and sniffled.

Winter smiled bitterly, "I'm sorry Whitley, for leaving you. Every day when I saw you becoming more and more like father, I just couldn't face you at all," She sighed, "It was foolish of me. I never hated you, I loved you both so much it just _hurt_ to see you become like him."

"You could have told me."

"Would you have listened?"

Whitley scoffed before admitting, "Probably, not."

They chuckled quietly.

The clock ticked loudly in the background as the Atlas wind howled and rattled the windows.

"I wish Weiss was here," Whitley said, "just to sit down with us and have a cup of tea. We never did have the chance."

Winter smiled as she recalled the time she visited Weiss at Beacon, "Last time I had tea with Weiss, I tried to teach her how to summon."

"She didn't already know how to?"

"No," Winter leaned forward, "she never really could manifest that particular part of her semblance properly."

"She always seemed to perfect, so talented," Whitley leaned in, his eyes glinting. It occurred to Winter he didn't know a whole lot about Weiss's ability as a Huntress.

"Not always," Winter chuckled. She continued, regaling him with stories on how she trained Weiss. From her first steps to summoning a glyph, to eventually moulding her semblance to better suit her style of combat, to the trials and errors Weiss encountered.

Her brother listened, entranced. For those fleeting moments, they could almost see their dear sister as she struggled to hone her craft, as she overcame her fears, as she fought her way to freedom. Those little moments of frustration, when Weiss would stamp her feet and try again. The little bouts of victory where she would hop and squeal in delight before returning to her proper form.

For those fleeting moments, it was almost as if Weiss was still there with them. But for the Schnee siblings sitting in the pantry chatting the night away…those fleeting moments were enough.

* * *

_0700  
_ _Cardin's Apartment, Mantle_

  
"Miya," Cardin warned, "eat your vegetables."

"I don't wanna," the little girl whined, kicking her feet in a chair still too tall for her. She looked at him with her signature large blue eyes, "uncle Russel doesn't force me to!"

Russel you son of a bitch, Cardin thought, "What about uncle Ren? Would you rather drink uncle Ren's special drink?"

"Ewwwww!" the girl stuck out her tongue.

"Then eat your vegetables or I will ask uncle Ren to make your vegetables into a drink," Cardin grinned, "Either ways, finish it before we get you to school, okay?"

Her face immediately fell. She looked at her unfinished breakfast plate, not willing to meet Cardin's eyes. Cardin knew that look. There was something she wanted to say.

"What is it, Miya?" Cardin said softly, "You can talk to me, you know."

She kicked her feet, hesitated. But, eventually, mumbled something.

"What is it?" He bent down lower, "Speak up. I don't have your ears."

"I don't wanna go to school."

The way she said it made Cardin hold off on the fact it wasn't the typical issue a seven year old "Why? Did something happen?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Tell me what happened, Miya." Cardin encouraged.

She looked at him, "Why do some people call me an animal?" Her large rabbit ears twitched, pulling back and flattening.

Cardin felt like someone had just decked him in the face. Is this the Brother's way of retribution? Retribution for his younger days? While to him, it was but a minor transgression compared to the line of work he does now, it somehow felt worse in a way that he couldn't describe.

The irony however, was not lost to Cardin at all.

Cardin Winchester, guardian of a faunus child. If someone told him that was in his future in his Beacon years, Cardin would have punched said person in the nose. But, a lot of things have happened since his Beacon days.

He ruffled Miya's brown hair, smiling as she beamed up at him. "Did they do anything to you?"

She shook her head, but Cardin saw the brief moment of hesitation. She wasn't ready to tell him, yet.

"Well," Cardin said, "some people are….misguided. They see this," he tapped Miya's ears. He frowned when she winced, "instead of what's in here." He tapped her chest, indicating her heart.

That's bullshit coming out of his mouth, he knew. But maybe if he told her the right things she wouldn't turn out like the fuck up he is. Some people are insecure. Some people lash out when they are hurt. Some people simply enjoy hurting others. Cardin knew this, he used to be the kid that ripped legs one by one off insects just for fun. But, Miya is still a child, and usually kids that age don't hurt others just because they look different.

"But, Miya." He leaned in close, "Do not ever let them walk all over you. If you must fight back, fight."

Miya nodded silently.

"If they hurt you, fight back. But know when to stop." Cardin said, "It's a fine line to walk. Because if you overdo it, they will think that they are right."

"Sounds hard," Miya grumbled.

"It is," Cardin admitted, "but if the ear pulling continues. Tell me. I'll have a word with the little weasel."

Cardin kicked himself immediately for the usage of the word "weasel", but Miya didn't seem to notice.

Miya looked up in surprise, her hands instinctively going to her rabbit ears. "H-how-?"

Because he's done it before, he wanted to say. "I had a talk with Mr Schnee," he told her instead, "I know you aren't doing that well."

"Oh," the girl looked down at her breakfast, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Miya," Cardin scooted in closer to the girl, "my grades weren't the best either. But you are a smart girl, so I know it was something else bothering you."

The child leaned onto Cardin and gave him a hug. He hesitated, but eventually patted her on the head.

Cardin's scroll chirped. He frowned as he brought up the message.

"Looks like we're going to school a little earlier today, Miya."

"Work?" Miya asked, the disappointment on her face evidently. Cardin tried not to look at her when she did expressions like that. It had a way of sapping his will.

"Work." Cardin confirmed.

"Will I have to stay over at school? With Mr Schnee?"

"Hopefully not," He said, truthfully. He knew how much Miya missed him, "When I get back, let's get ice cream, how about that?"

"Yay!"

* * *

0800  
_Main Operating Base Elysia, Atlas_

  
"I'm curious, Mr Thrush," Ozpin said, "Why spend your off time with an old man like me?"

Russel snorted. The face Ozpin was wearing was anything but old. "Don't have anywhere to go, really."

"No personal life? No partner?" Ozpin asked. He considered the board in front of him, and moved his knight chess piece, "check."

"Damn," Russel cursed, moving his king to safety, "and no. No partner. Never made any that worked out in this line of work. Would have stayed a Huntsman if I wanted one. Much less taboo around hunting Grimm."

"Checkmate," Ozpin announced. He chuckled, "You haven't played a day in your life, have you?"

"No," Russel admitted. He quickly changed to the subject, "To be fair, Ren and Cardin are in the same boat, but at least they have obligations to fulfill."

"Family?"

"Kinda," Russel shrugged, "Ren's got his Nora and Cardin's got a kid to look after."

"Mr Lie's connection with Ms Valkyrie was obvious from the beginning. I'm glad they ended up together." Ozpin smiled as he thought back, "As for Mr Winchester, it's good to see he has found someone too."

"Eh," Russel looked awkwardly to the side, "sorry to pop your bubble of optimism, but you are wrong on both counts."

"Oh dear." Ozpin's face fell, almost instantly.

"Nora's gone for a while now. Ren still couldn't let her go. Goes to Argus to visit her every chance he gets. Gloomy fucker, but can't blame the guy," Russel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Shame. A damn shame." Ozpin sighed, "Do you know what happened?"

Russel shook his head, "Only Winter does. It's not a topic he likes to talk about. Plus, it's too late for us to ask now anyway. Too awkward, you know?"

"As for Mr Winchester?"

"Found the kid on a mission when we were still CRDL," Russel shrugged, "mission went bad. Lots of casualties. Couldn't just leave the kid, in the middle of Grimm territory, could we?"

"Unfortunate," Ozpin sighed, "it is something all Huntsmen must face sooner or later, the possibility of a failed mission. Even team CFVY's first failed mission took a massive toll on their mental state."

"Yea, I heard about that one," Russel grumbled, "at least I would have swallowed that down a bit better if the Grimm were involved at all."

There was a knock at the door, and whatever Ozpin wanted to say died in his throat. Russel looked up.

"Ah shit." Russel Thrush knew there was going to be trouble when he saw her.

He chugged the rest of his energy drink, the overtly sweet and sickly fizzy formula no longer affecting him like it used to, and crushed the can in his hands. Something was up, he could feel it.

May Marigold, former heir of the Marigold family, stood at the doorway.

"What gives, Mary?" Russel drawled, a crooked grin on his face, "It's our off day."

May glowered at Thrush for calling her "Mary". Something on her face made told him something was wrong. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her eyes were red and swollen, like she had been teargassed.

"May," He said, "You look like shit."

She dragged out a chair and sat in front of him, "Robyn needs your help. You and the rest of you guys."

"Shit, something happen?"

May looked at Ozpin, then back at Russel, "Who is he?"

"Someone above your paygrade," Russel said, earning him a scowl, "but he's good."

May hesitated, but spoke anyway, "Fiona's dead, and Joanna is missing."

"Shit."

"A group had come in, packed with a shipment of corpses. Law enforcement found Fiona a few hours ago. I went there and-" May stopped, biting her lips. She took a deep breath, "We suspect a hostile group has infiltrated Mantle. We want to keep this down low, as to not cause a panic."

"Panic my ass," Russel snorted, "There's something more to it, isn't there?"

May nodded. "I won't speculate on what it is. Robyn is coming down here personally brief Winter. We're calling in the favour you owe us."

"The favour Winter owes Robyn….and Qrow, and Clover."

"But whatever Winter does, you will follow too," May shrugged, "so it doesn't make a difference."

"Shit, got me there." Russel stood up. He looked at Ozpin apologetically, "Sorry sir, looks like my sixth loss in our game of chess is going to have to wait.

"I'll be looking forward to it, Mr Thrush." Ozpin waved him off, "I appreciate you keeping me company. Security measures also make for awfully dull days."

"I'll catch you later, old man."

Ozpin sat back in his seat, clasping his hands together as he heard the door hiss shut. These past few weeks were but a heartbeat in his eyes. He could wait months or years for a plan to come to fruition. But something told him that he didn't need to wait that long this time round. He closed his eyes, and waited.

* * *

Robyn and May entered Winter's office. Robyn and May both were a far cry from what they used to look. Now a proper councilwoman, their huntsmen attire was fully replaced with smart blue suits. But even then, their weapons hung loosely on their backs. Some habits did die hard.

Without even a greeting, Robyn dragged out a chair and sat in front of Winter. It looked like she didn't get much sleep either. May stood at the back near the doorway. She too, looked tired.

"Fiona is dead," Robyn said flatly, "and Joanna is missing. I'm calling in our favour."

The lack of sleep yesterday had left Winter in a very sour mood this morning. The words coming out of Robyn's mouth did not help much at all. When the words "I'm calling in our favour," came tumbling out of Robyn's mouth, Winter knew they were going to butt heads.

"Here I thought you were coming down to visit," Winter arched an eyebrow as she sank into her office chair. She poured them both a cup of coffee, "what happened, Robyn?"

"Dock workers found Fiona first thing in the morning," Robyn said, her voice cold and hard, "Joanna was accompanying her, and she never showed up too." She clenched her fists. It was shaking, "Some bastard ripped out her heart, Winter. But we never found the heart itself."

Some psycho killed her then, but that begs the question. What were they doing at the docks? All of the docks were a distance away from the main patrol areas of Mantle, but more importantly…

"Robyn," Winter sighed, knowing the answer, "why did you come to me? This seems like something for the Special Police, or even the Ace Ops if there was truly a domestic threat."

Robyn sighed deeply, as if it pained her to do this. "I am in calling in the favor, Winter. I want this to be kept down low. No one hears a word of this."

"May I inquire as to why?"

Robyn looked at May briefly. Winter knew they were considering if they should tell her everything.

"I can make an educated guess, Robyn," Winter leaned back into her seat, "old habits die hard after all."

Robyn narrowed her eyes, but relented and sighed, "There's no way about this. We were moving people from outside the kingdom into Mantle. I do not know what happened, but the deal went south, evidently."

"Of course you were," Winter sighed, "of fucking course. And now when it finally comes to bite you in the ass, you-"

"If the rest of the council- no, if anyone- were to catch wind of this, it's over for me."

"I'm seriously considering that possibility of letting them know, Robyn."

"People need Atlas's help, Winter," Robyn snapped, "weather the rest of the council likes it or not, Atlas and Mantle has the moral duty to look out for the rest of Remnant. I cannot do that if I'm grounded in Mantle again."

Winter rolled her eyes. Please. The people of Remnant need _Atlas's_ help. How self-righteous can you get? "And your solution is to smuggle in people into the border, past any and all security measures we put in place," Winter shook her head in disgust, "I have no idea why the council, or even General Ironwood back then even _tolerated_ your insurgent activates."

"Insurgent?" The councilwoman spat indignantly, "We are helping people, dammit! Do you have any idea how many people we uplifted from the Grimm territories, how many people flourished and prospered under Mantle and Atlas."

"Surely helped the companies prosper, you keep bringing in cheap labour force. That is the reason why my father backed you instead of Ironwood. You really think of Whitley didn't take the helm, SDC would be any different?"

Robyn slammed her fist down on the table, her face red with fury, "Enough! I didn't come here to debate you, Winter."

"General Ironwood, my father, almost my entire family, died because terrorists were given a straight path into Mantle," Winter snapped, "Has that day taught you nothing simply because you weren't affected?"

"Fiona is dead, Winter," Robyn growled, pointing an accusing finger at Winter, "I want to find the fucker that did this. I do not have time to debate about this shit. Drop it, and keep your word."

"Don't we have time?" Winter snarled, "Most likely both your friends are dead. So let's god damn talk."

"Winter..."

"Your Huntresses trafficked in hundreds and thousands of people into Mantle. Is it a wonder that we are stretched to our necks stamping out gang activity? Is a wonder that despite your best efforts, your Happy Huntresses are as busy as ever stamping out criminals and exploitation rings?"

"Winter, I'm warning you."

"I told you one day you will step on a landmine. But it wasn't you that paid for it." Winter leaned back, "And now you want me and my men to go on a hunt, which if exposed, will mean a new wave of protests. Atlas government overreach, police and military brutality, and people are going to lap it up. Then you will parrot their slogans and undermine the security of Atlas and Mantle like the traitorous rat you are. "

"You cold bitch," May snarled, stepping forwards, "We have helped thousands of people get a better life. I don't expect you, a princess that grew up surrounded in gold and silver mined by the bare hands of slaves to understand."

"Slaves the likes of you imported," Winter shot back, "You're not the one that has lost family due to idiot actions perpetuated by-," Winter stopped, and reconsidered, "actually. You just did. By your own blindness and self-righteousness. You have cost Fiona, and possibly Joanna her life."

May lunged at Winter, leaping over the desk dividing the two. Winter was ready. She caught May by her fist, twisted, and slammed her onto the floor. Winter drove her knee into the back of May, and raised her fist to-

" _Stop_!" Robyn barked, standing up.

Winter let go of May, sneering, "Try that again and I'll break your arm. Try explaining that to the press."

"You fucking-" May scrambled to her feet, "I'll-"

"May! Enough!" Robyn lifted a finger and pointed it close to Winter's face, "you _fucking owe me_ , Winter. I'm calling in that favour whether you like it or not. Without me, where would you be? In some office job thinking about what you could be doing as you waste your life away, I imagine."

Winter sneered, "Fine. After this, we're done. I'll go brief the boys. Once we have the information, we will scour Mantle and bring them to you. I will let you slit their throats yourself and dump them in a back alley, just another victim of gang violence. How about that?"

Robyn faltered, "I-"

"-wanted me to do the dirty work for you?" Winter arched an eyebrow, "Don't want to sully your hands with blood?"

"I never –"

"Bullshit," Winter didn't let her finish, "You would have gone to the special police otherwise if you wanted them alive, or even the Ace Ops if you wanted them alive _and_ done quietly. But you came to me. You know what the legionnaires do. You sign off on our missions after all, along with the rest of the council." Winter sat back down, sniffing contemptuously, "But you came to me. You know my record as well as I do."

Robyn held Winter's gaze, and sighed. "Fine. I owe Fiona and Joanna that much anyway."

"Then you better hope this is as simple as it appears."

Robyn closed her eyes, and sighed, "It isn't. Fiona and Joanna wouldn't be taken out so easily. I suspect that we have let in someone very, very dangerous."

"You probably did," Winter spat, "But worry not for your political career if this does get out. Everyone has forgotten the hundreds of lives lost five years ago. Climbed over their corpses to reach that moral high ground."

Robyn said nothing, but May glared at Winter contemptuously. Winter stood up, strapping her sword and sidearm on her uniform.

"I hope it was worth it," Winter said, before slamming the door.

"That fucking psycho bitch," May snarled, "heartless, cruel fas-"

"May," Robyn sighed as she held her head, "enough. Please."

"Why the fuck do we even need her help. Why the fuck did you help her in the first place. She's a damn Schnee and you know what they're like."

"She has different priorities, May. Even then, in this case at least, she isn't wrong."

"But-"

Robyn clenched her fists repeatedly, knuckles cracking, "We haven't been on the field for far too long. She's been overseas dealing with the worst Remnant has to offer. You know as well as I each time we bring these people in there are risks involved."

"But somehow, our initial screening failed this time round. The facial recognition, the bio scans, everything." May sighed, "Just shitty fucking luck, then."

"No such thing, May."

"What do you mean?"

"In the past 10 years, how many times has Atlas security systems malfunctioned or failed outright?"

"I don't know," May shrugged, "off the top of my head, two times."

"Three including this," Robyn nodded, "first time, it was Fall of Beacon. Second time, General Ironwood's assassination. Third time," she shot May a knowing look, "I pray to the Brothers I am wrong, May. Else it won't just be the blood of our sister's on my our hands."

"Are you suggesting..." May narrowed her eyes, "…sabotage?"

"Anything is possible," Robyn admitted, "fuck, I can't believe I'm quoting Ironwood. As he used to say, "Once, is happenstance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times-"

"-is enemy action." May finished.

* * *

"I could hear the shouting from outside, ma'am," Russel quipped. The man was already in full combat load, black armoured vest donned and ready. His rifle hung loosely on his shoulder, a sharp contrast to the white uniformed personnel milling about.

Lie Ren and Cardin Winchester flanked the door, likewise fully geared. They shared knowing looks between each other, keeping their thoughts on the shouting to themselves.

"Can it, Thrush," Winter snapped, "I'm not in the mood." As she walked, the men fell in step. The crowd parted, scrambling to get out of the way of the ominous black uniformed men.

"Status?"

"Geared and ready to go as usual, ma'am." Cardin replied.

"Gear down and meet me in the briefing room. We have a fucking mess in our hands."

"Yes ma-"

There was a distant rumble, muffled but loud enough to cut through the din of activity. The men immediately shouldered their rifles, their stances low and muscles coiled.

The uniformed men and women of Atlas stopped in their tracks, curious of what that sound was. They stood there, more stunned and confused by the sudden alertness of the men in black rather than the odd loud sound.

Then, muffled cracks and pops sounded through the walls of the Atlas military base.

Winter's mind reeled at the impossibility, at the sheer audacity of such actions. But there was no mistaking it.

Gunfire.

* * *

Ozpin opened his eyes.

They were here.

* * *

One soldier, a fresh recruit by the name of Mae, was hopping up and down to warm herself up. Her partner, Sall was fiddling with his scroll. Judging by the obnoxious beeping coming from it, he was in the middle of a game.

They were supposed to be guarding the entrance, but hardly anyone comes by road.

"Aw fuck," Sall cursed, "really?"

Mae glowered at the man, "Put the damn thing away before the sergeant sees."

"I was so damn close!" Sall grumbled, "damn thing had to die on me." He tapped the scroll aggressively a few times through his thick gloves.

"Uh, Mae?"

"Yea?" She called back to her partner.

"Is your scroll working?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Mae asked.

"Please? Maybe there's a CCT outage," Sall put his scroll down, a worried look on his face, "I just bought the damn thing. It's not working anymore."

Mae rolled her eyes under her helmet, "Fine, happy?"

Glancing around, making sure no one is approaching, Mae fished out her scroll.

There was no reception at all. In fact, it seems to be remotely deactivated. She frowned.

"Yeah, odd. Mine's dead too." She looked up, to see Sall staring into the distance, "What?"

She followed his gaze. There were figures in the distance, indistinct and ghostlike. The snow suddenly intensified, as if actively veiling their approach.

But then, something odd happened.

The falling snow began to slow down, and, to Mae's amazement, come to a halt in mid air. It shook and vibrated, like an old security footage.

"What the fu-" she began.

Then, she died, turned into ribbons of flesh and bone by the time it took them to scream.

The Grimm creature roared. All the hate, terror, confusion and sorrow the being had experienced in its entire life blasted out in that one single shriek.

The day before, the Grimm creature was Joanna Greenleaf. A headstrong, caring teammate that would put her life down for her friends. An irreplaceable member of the Happy Huntresses and a loving daughter.

Now, she was a thing of horror. Fuelled by pure Grimm essence forcibly injected into her dying body and corrupting her very being, it was a missile of spikes, fangs, and claws.

Trailing behind the carnage, Adam advanced, an entire platoon of Black Claws in tow.

Sall hobbled up to his feet, his pristine white uniform now covered in the red gore of his partner. He turned to look at Adam, "W-what's going on?"

Adam decapitated the man in a single clean strike. He stepped over the juddering corpse, and advanced into the facility.

* * *

"Brothers!" Adam roared, "Bare your fangs!"

"Rip their throats!" The Black Claws thundered back.

The unit moved as one with the speed, surprise, and violence that earned them their infamous reputation. Their Grimm masks shone in the fire, the blood red patterns seem to glow as red as the blood being spilt.

They fanned out in the courtyard, rifles barking and blades flashing, a bloody trail in their wake.

The White Fang unit punched through the confused Atlesian soldiers, their training further enhanced by unnatural means.

Scar bayonetted a surprised soldier in the neck, his strike powerful enough to shatter aura like glass. Vajo's shotgun thundered as his team punched down the corridors, blasting reeling men point-blank and sending their broken bodies flying. Blake was a smoking ghost, opening throats and disembowelling reeling soldiers with unnatural grace as she danced between each target.

Adam followed behind. While he was unenhanced unlike his Black Claws brethren, he was equally as formidable, if not more. He was a whirlwind of red and black steel, his swordsmanship on full display he butchered his way through. Bullets were deflected with unerring accuracy, and he moved with the speed and skill that earned him his position.

Around him, an alarm began to wail.

* * *

Tyrian charged through the main lobby. The Grimm creature had already torn through the area, judging by the blood painting the floor, walls, and ceiling.

A masterpiece of life and death, he thought.

There were survivors, a man dragging a woman faunus with her. The girl's legs were missing, but her screams told the world that she was very much alive.

Her friend saw Tyrian, and with a curse, he lifted his weapon. It was a trumpet, to his amusement.

The sonic blast that followed was even more so. Tyrian cackled as dodged the attack, leaping up high and crawling up the walls, concrete shattering and fracturing beneath him under the sonic assault.

He leapt down, stinger first. The Huntsman fell back, convulsing as he clutched the gaping wound in his throat. The bisected trumpet clattered to the ground, along with several fingers.

The faunus girl wailed as she threw herself over her dying friend.

She looked up at Tyrian, her striking green eyes piercing into his soul. "Why?" she croaked.

"Why?" Tyrian stroked his chin, as if he was deep in thought. He flashed a grin, "Why not?"

He stepped up to the girl, deliberate and slow. His stinger dangling threateningly above his head as he loomed over his prey. He hovered his stinger above the girl, like a looming guillotine ready to fall.

She screamed when he struck, and caught the stinger right before it pierced her heart.

Some fight left in her after all.

Maybe he can play for just a moment. They had time, right?

The girl gasped, as the tip pierced her skin. She grasped the stinger with her bare hands, trying to stop the inevitable. Tyrian grinned as, -with agonizing slowness- he sank the tip of his stinger into her chest.

"No…" She hissed, "…stop…"

"Hmm," Tyrian mock contemplated, "No."

She wept and choked, her breaths becoming faster as she hyperventilated. Her strength was waning. Tyrian sank the stinger deeper, inch by inch. He could feel her struggle, flounder uselessly like a drowning man in the black ocean pits.

Hey eyes, so green and striking, were _alive._

"I like you, little girl," He whispered, "the look in your eyes. You should be thanking me."

He licked his lips.

"Savour this moment, girl. This is the most alive you have ever been. Will ever be."

Desperation kicked in. The girl clenched her teeth as she fully gripped the stinger, she howled as Tyrian applied a slight bit more pressure. Only in these moments, the moments closest to death, does one _truly live._

He cackled, delighted at her renewed strength. Perhaps he should-

The girl's head snapped back as a bullet punched through her skull. She went limp, her limbs shuddering.

Tyrian looked up, furious.

Adam shoved his way past the psychopath, "Focus on the mission, idiot!" he snarled.

Tyrian sneered back. That man was no fun.

* * *

"Ozpin!"

The door to Ozpin's room was kicked open, and Winter stormed in. The men flanked her, rifles up covering the rear and front.

Ozpin sat in his seat, seemingly not able to hear the alarm blasting overhead. He looked up calmly at Winter.

"Sir, we need to leave," Winter shouted over the alarm, "Protocol-"

"Black Ice," Ozpin finished up for her, standing up, "I am familiar with James's protocols."

"Then you know we must leave, now."

The shouting and screaming outside got louder. There was a series of deafening bangs, and some were cut short. Winter readied her pistol, but she signalled for Cardin to take a look outside.

Cardin was about to edge out, when a junior huntsman sprinted down the hallway across his vision. His entire right arm was wet and crimson, flailing limply at his side. He turned back, and let loose a few shots with his sidearm, lighting up the hallway.

Three figures were bounding down towards him, their weapons smoking. They were all wearing snarling Grimm masks.

Answering fire stitched through his body, and the junior simply crumpled in a heap. The boy rolled around, gasping in pain. He looked up at Cardin, his eyes pleading.

"H-help me." he gurgled.

A Dust round blew out his throat.

Cardin swung out and fired his rifle.

The volley caught the first Fang in the chest, cracking through his Aura in a burst of colour. Then, a single precise shot nailed the terrorist through the eyeholes of his mask. Cardin bounded out into the next room. Multi-coloured Dust tracers chased after him, ricocheting off the floor and pinging hard into the metal door of Ozpin's room.

Russel popped out low in that moment, while the Fang were focused on Cardin, a small black target at the bottom of the doorframe. His rifle barked, and another one fell, his face demolished by five precise rifle shots.

The last Fang then recognized the predicament he was in, when he realized two of his friends had died in a couple of heart beats. He swung his aim around, firing wildly at the new threat.

Like clockwork, Cardin leaned out in that moment. The Fang tried to adjust his aim as he backpedalled wildly, cursing and howling.

Another volley, and the man stumbled back, his body riddled with shots. Black blood bled from his wounds, hissing and bubbling, thick and viscous.

But he wasn't dead. As he fell on his knees, he shouted. "They are here! Block two! Block tw-"

Two shots, executed simultaneously it had sounded like one, dropped the man.

"Move!" Russel barked.

* * *

"What in the name of the Brothers is going on?" Robyn shouted, raising her voice above the alarms.

No one acknowledged her. Non-combat personnel were fleeing with abandon in the opposite direction as white armoured troops elbowed and shoved their way against the tide.

It was blatantly clear that this was not a combat drill. The alarm bells, the gunfire and even the casualties could be simulated. But nothing could simulate the razor edge of the atmosphere, the hint of burning flesh and blood in the air, and the very real panic of the fleeing men and women.

May stumbled out from behind, and grabbed a running soldier, an Atlas Academy student, first year by the markings on his shirt, "What's going on, soldier?"

"We're under attack!" The boy squeaked.

May slapped him across the cheek, "Get a hold of yourself, Huntsman. I didn't ask for the obvious!"

"Protocol Black Ice," Clover suddenly appeared beside her. The rest of the Ace Ops team closed in around the council member.

May's jaw went slack. Robyn stared at Clover in disbelief, "That bad? Clover. You can't be serious."

"Black Ice is in effect, ma'am," Clover clarified, "Harriet will escort you to safety. You will be evacuated if required."

Elm, the largest of the Ace Ops, gently placed her hand on Robyn's shoulder. It was restrained, but Robyn knew she was about to be manhandled if she didn't comply, "Please ma'am. We have got to move you now."

"Get your hands off her, Elm." May warned.

Robyn was about to protest when she heard it. A high-pitched keening noise, like distant nails on a chalkboard. She saw Marrow visibly wincing, his faunus hearing amplifying it. She felt her bile rise. Robyn was unceremoniously grabbed and hauled away by Elm. Robyn tried to protest. She could stay and fight, she could help! But the Ace Ops had their orders. Protocol Black Ice meant that her safety was prioritized above all, and even she couldn't override it.

The Grimm thing burst down the corridor, a red keening blur. Reality shimmered and bubbled around it. Robyn had a hard time actually _seeing_ what it was. But the carnage it left was visible enough.

Doors splintered in an explosive blizzard as it passed. People were gutted, torn, and shredded. Their Auras detonating in flashes of colour as they collapsed in fountains of blood. Some were battered aside like bowling pins, and some without Aura simply popped like blood blisters.

"Oh shit!" May cursed. She unfurled her crossbow, and sent several bolts down at the screaming Grimm. It showed no sign of stopping, nor even registering it was struck by twenty inches of cold steel.

 _"Stay!"_ Marrow roared. His semblance hit the Grimm creature like a tidal wave.

It slowed down to a crawl, but even then reality shimmered and bubbled, distorting around the black humanoid form thrashing inside.

Marrow grunted, and blood started leaking down his nose.

May unloaded shot after shot into the creature, her bolts exploding with elemental energy. Chunks of blackened ice formed and shattered in an instant as May tried to freeze the monster in place.

Yellow beams of Aura shot forth, shaped into claws. It skewered the Grimm in the chest, and tore outwards. Black viscera spilt forth, suspended in mid air. It smoked and hissed like black jewels, glistening in the light. Vine tore into the helpless creature, his face a mask of calm as he butchered his target.

Harriet darted forth, a trail of lightning behind her as she shot up the wall and over the fleeing men and women. She was a blur, covering the entire hallway in a blink of an eye. She hit the Grimm with the force of a bullet, her exoskeleton demolishing where the Grimm's shimmering head should be. Black blood splattered in a halo, but like everything around it, the droplets froze in mid motion. It looked like a defaced fallen angel.

Harriet rounded for another run, once, twice. Each time taking a good chunk out of the creature.

"Harriet!" Marrow hissed, "B-back! Now!"

The thing began to move. Time resumed around it as the thrashing form started to move, speeding up again.

"Oh shit." Harriet snarled, skidding to a halt and dashing back towards the group.

"Scatter!" Clover bellowed.

The Grimm thing tore free, and the terrible keening noise amplified. The team immediately went in different directions, kicking down doors in an attempt to avoid the death missile.

Marrow howled, wincing as his ears bled from the terrible noise, his enhanced hearing costing him a few seconds.

Clover dove in, yanking his teammate onto the floor. Marrow cracked his chin painfully on the concrete, just as the Grimm soared overhead. Clover didn't see how close to death they both had been, but he _felt_ the murderous rage knifing through the space above.

Clover spun, and stabbed his weapon – a hook sword- upwards. The bladed head sunk and tore into the creature's abdomen, showering him in ichor as he disembowelled the creature.

Clover grinned as he looked at Marrow, "Close one, pup." His face fell when he realized he was rolling in blood.

"Brothers, fucking, _dammit!"_ Marrow roared, flipping on his back and unloading his rifle at the passing Grimm creature's back, his white uniform now stained red.

Blood coated the ground, hot and sticky. Marrow roared in agony, shouting profanities the team had never heard him use before. The shredded stump of meat that used to be his tail was pumping out blood like a fountain. There was a pulse of colour, and the bleeding stopped.

The thing had not ripped through Marrow's Aura, Clover realized.

It had bypassed it _completely._ As it was not present at all.

Clover scrambled up, almost slipping. His weapons reel clicked and clacked as his prey swam away. "You are not going anywhere."

He pulled. The powerful motors in his hook sword whined. The weapon bent, and Clover hauled, his exposed arm muscles bulging with the effort.

The line slackened. The murderous red blur was turning back, the tidal wave of destruction marking its path.

"Again!" Clover barked.

"S-stay!" Marrow growled, gritting his teeth through the pain.

Once again, the creature slowed. Once again, the Ace Ops dove in, renewing their assault.

* * *

"They are here! Block two! Block tw-" The radio cut off.

"Woods? Woods!" Adam yelled through his earpiece. He cursed. He turned and shouted to his men, "Target in Block two! Pursue and cut off!"

Adam pointed and selected the group closest men to him, "You lot! Come with me. Blake and I are going to the secondary objective."

The Black Claws split into teams, and went on the hunt.

Adam's group advanced, weapons up and sweeping. They split off from the main group as they entered the area designated as "Block two". They needed to move fast, to keep up the momentum. Once the Atlesians gather their wits, their mission will become harder.

As Scar burst through into a hallway, he was shredded. A hail of fire and lightning perforated him, shattering his Aura, burning out his spine and cracking off a good chunk of his skull. Hissing black blood sprayed across the white floors as Scar fell, the damage too much even for the Grimm blood to compensate.

Someone had been carrying a Dust machine gun, most likely a Huntsmen.

Yuma was luckier, despite having no enhancements. The bullet deflected off his mask, the force smashing through his Aura, into his face and breaking his cheekbone. Yuma was pulled back into cover by Adam.

"Yin!" Adam shouted,

"Got it!" Yin slid behind him, slapping a shell in her grenade launcher. She popped out, and fired. The grenade shrieked down the hallway, smashing past ceiling lights before detonating. The concussive blast shook the building as smoke billowed up the hall.

"Again!" Adam coughed,

Yin laughed, cracking open the smoking launcher and slotting in another shell.

Suddenly, Adam felt the hair on his neck rise. "Semblance!" He yelled.

As if grabbed by an invisible hand, Yin yelped as she was yanked into the open. Gunfire stitched into Yin, but she let off another shot before her neck blew wide open in a shower of fire Dust.

Another blast, concrete cracked and chipped. Then, a huge explosion rocked the entire building. A rush of fire and lighting blasted down the hallway as the elemental Dust cooked off. Screams echoed down the hallway.

Adam winced, feeling the heatwave sear into his Aura. The fire died down.

"Blake!" Adam barked, and immediately Blake darted in, claws extended, barely disturbing the drifting smoke.

He crouched down to check on Yin. She was still alive, but not for long. Even with enhanced physiology, the burning wound was fatal. They looked at each other, and nodded.

"Die well, my friend." Adam said, drawing out her sidearm and placing it in her hand, "kill anyone that comes up behind." He dragged her to a wall, and left her there.

As the unit advanced through into the blackened hallway. They found most of the defenders dead, their charred and blackened corpses twisted in awkward positions. Blake slit the throats of the few deaf and blinded survivors.

"Power room," Yuma pointed towards a marked room, "I don't see the point. It's still day, and their back up emergency generators-"

"Watts took care of the generators," Adam said, unhooking a grenade from his belt, "their lower levels and inner areas will still be in darkness. Focus, Yuma."

"Yes sir."

Adam tossed in the grenade and slammed the door, "Back!" he barked.

The door blasted off with a thunderclap. The lights of the facility flickered, then died.

* * *

"Fuck." Russel swore when the lights flickered off, "We need vision, ASAP."

"Ren," Winter said.

"Got it," Ren moved ahead, his semblance activating. The world was dark but in the distance, small flickers of colour stood out. Past the walls, the floors of concrete, past the chaos, one thing remained true.

Emotion.

The red of killing intent glowed brightly on himself and his team. Ozpin's blue was that of a calm river….and behind him, a good distance away...

"That's...a lot of them."

Colours, bright and varied, flickering and moved. It was a mixture of Fang and Military. Some vanished as they died. Some turned dark blue in fear, before flickering out. Over in Block one, a cacophony of colours, one so bright it hurt Ren to look at it. There was a huge fight going on in the upper hallways where they were a few minutes before.

No time to get distracted. His vision wasn't as clear as night-vision goggles, and it constantly sapped at his Aura, but it had other uses.

"I got a group moving to cut us off in front. Another group pursuing us from the back. If we cut our way forwards up the stairs, we can punch through the smallest group. That entire path will have windows, giving us some vision. Break through the glass, then into the parking lot from there. "

"Sounds like a plan," Winter said, "let's go!"

* * *

The lights went dead, and that almost killed the Ace Ops.

It was a brief distraction, but a costly one.

May had lined up another shot, and in that brief moment, she lost her target.

Blood loss and pain had addled Marrows mind, and in that brief moment, he lost focus.

Harriet had been rounding in for another attack, and in that brief moment, she misjudged her distance.

Vine had launched another strike with his Aura bladed arms, and in that brief moment, he hesitated.

Clover had been going in for another hook, and in that brief moment, he was distracted.

Marrow yelled out a warning, but it was too late.

The Grimm creature broke free.

Harriet tumbled forward, her own momentum carrying her lightning-wreathed body down the length of the hallway, crashing past bodies and leaving a streak of blood and sparks. Her Aura sparked weakly as she went into shock, both her arms now nothing but mangled red stumps.

Vine missed his mark. Instead of skewering the monster in the torso, he hacked off a good chunk of its arm. The Grimm creature sped towards Vine, a flurry of red blades and teeth. He didn't have time to scream.

Clover should have died too, then and there. However, he didn't.

Blood saved him. Blood, and plain stupid luck.

He slipped, narrowly dodging the creature. He didn't see Vine's demise, but he felt it. Blood and chunks of flesh sprayed into his face as the creature demolished his teammate.

"Stay!" Marrow screamed again.

Clover scrambled away, towards Harriet's still twitching form. The only visible thing in his darkness was the residual lightning still coursing off her, "Marrow! Fall back!"

"I, can, hold it," Marrow snarled, "get Harriet!"

"Don't be a hero, boy! We can't fight what we can't see."

There was a crack, and the entire hallway was suddenly bathed in harsh orange. Clover looked up, to see a burning bolt embedded in the ceiling, lit up by fire Dust crystals.

"Gotcha," May growled, and she let off a shot.

The bolt pierced the thing's head, and it suddenly exploded in fire. The Grimm screamed, unable to thrash about as it was held with Marrow's semblance, lighting up the entire area in a harsh orange glow.

How much did he take to kill this thing? It was evidently wounded, as it seemed slower before. The forms were less blurred, and Clover could actually make out the vicious wounds they had inflicted on it.

"Go get your friend!" May yelled.

He ran over to Harriet. His teammate was in a very bad shape, the woman was pale, her eyes wide open and her mouth opening and closing soundlessly in pain.

"I'm sorry, Harriet." Clover said under his breath. He turned her around and ripped off her individual first aid kit attached to her belt. He dumped out everything and found the tourniquet.

It was the second time he had to use a tourniquet in an active situation, and last time he had been too slow. Harriet's previous partner, Tortuga, had paid the price for Clover's failure.

 _Not again,_ he vowed mentally.

Harriet gasped kicked weakly as he bound the piece of cloth around her stumps, tightening it as much as he could, so much so it _hurt_ his subordinate. But she was dead anyway if he didn't stop the bleeding.

One done, another to go.

Seconds ticked away, and Clover could feel the life leaking out of Harriet.

Mercifully, Harriet went limp. Clover hoped to the Brothers he had saved her, not killed her in the process.

"Clover!"

He turned at Marrow's warning. The creature had broken free again. A burning spectre of death flew towards him, its entire body aflame. Its claws were extended, and Clover had just enough time to register it was going for his eyes.

Then it vanished.

A black blur battered it aside. A smoking black outstretched arm with vicious claws embedded itself into the wall beside Clover. The Grimm creature was battered back in a whirlwind of steel, a scythe carved and cut into the blurring form, matching the wounded creature's speed and ferocity. Clover recognized the silhouette of his saviour.

"You took your damn time!" He almost shouted, but he couldn't keep the smile of relief from his face. Looks like his luck held after all.

Qrow didn't answer. Fully focused on the creature in front of him. He parried and riposted, blow for blow. Marrow and May hesitated, not wanting to shoot into the ferocious melee. They watched slack jawed, finally knowing why Qrow Branwen had made a name for himself in the Huntsman world. The man was going toe to toe with the most deadly Grimm creature they had ever encountered, and he didn't even look phased.

Instead, it looked like he was stalling, as if waiting for something.

"Out of the way if you please, gentlemen," came a clipped, curt voice.

Clover looked up surprised, recognizing the voice.

Glynda Goodwitch, former vice principle of Beacon Academy, current headmistress of Atlas Academy, strode down the hallway. Her eyes were hard, as if she was about to deal with a particularly undisciplined student. Behind her, figures followed, their white uniforms accented by an emerald shoulder cape mirroring their headmistress's own.

Glynda's own Grimm Specialist Huntsmen: The Emerald Coven. An entire batch of them.

With a sly grin and an elaborate bow, needlessly flourished in the middle of a deadly duel, Qrow bowed out, his red cape fluttering as he twisted away.

The Emerald Coven began their blitz. Their methods were anything but subtle. Fireballs. Ice blasts. Electric bolts. Multi coloured Dust fire, further boosted by semblances ripped down the corridor, demolishing the floor, the ceiling, shattering concrete and stone. The Grimm creature was pinned, an ear-splitting scream tore through the storm of destruction.

But it was not dead.

It was enraged. It was hurt. It needed to flee.

It barrelled towards Glynda and her Coven, weathering the storm of Dust even as it blew black chunks after black chunks of corrupted meat off it. Clover's eyes widened in horror. It was going to go through them. The incoming attacks faltered as Glynda and her Coven realized the same thing.

_"Stay!"_

Suddenly, it slowed down, as if it was traveling through thick liquid.

Now, all of a sudden, May could see what the monster was, clear as day.

It was unmistakable. Despite the wounds, the black corrupted skin, the red eyes and the elongated fangs and claws, there was no mistaking it.

"Fuck! Joanna?" May gasped.

"Can't. Hold. It." Marrow grunted through gritted teeth, "Kill it! Kill it now!"

Suddenly, the pressure in the room increased tenfold. The air around the Grimm distorted and warped. There was a horrendous crack and crunch as the bones of the Grimm creature collapsed in upon itself. The Grimm creature howled as black blood spurt out in large pools. But the Grimm liquid hung in mid-air, frozen and suspended.

Glynda Goodwitch gritted her teeth, visibly straining as her telekinetic Semblance slowly crushed the creature under pressures so immense it warped perception, the sheer power and mastery of her semblance on full display.

"No!" May cried, "Stop! It's Joanna! Stop! Please!"

Something flashed in the Grimm creature's eyes. May saw it clear as day. For a brief moment, the blood red eyes of Joanna softened, as if in recognition…as if in thanks.

There was a thunderclap, and the Grimm Creature ceased to be. There was a fierce drop in pressure and a burst of hot air. Everyone was blasted back, some hit the walls hard enough to shatter their Aura. Black blood and bone fragments coated the charred walls of the facility.

Glynda Goodwitch was breathing heavily, her footing unstable. Qrow stabilized her, and she nodded in thanks. She turned around, clearing her throat. She brushed a thick chunk of charred gristle off her shoulder as she turned to face the surviving members of the Ace Ops.

Marrow fell on his knees, the blood running from his nose mixing with the red liquids he was heaving from his mouth. May stared at the blacked smudge on the floor, her mind uncomprehending.

Clover scrambled to Harriet, checking for a pulse.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Alive.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, before passing out.

* * *

"Stay behind me, sir," Russel told Ozpin.

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Thrush." The man replied calmly, as if it was nothing but an evening stroll in the park.

"Well Winter will have my ass if anything happens to you so...," Russel shrugged.

"Cut the chatter!" Winter snarled.

As they peaked round the corner, Ren saw them.

Angry red silhouettes in the distance, but Ren wasn't sure if they were friend or foe.

Then, it hit him like a particularly foul stench. Pure _killing intent._

"Contact front!" Ren shouted, blasting into the red glowing blur in his vision. Muzzle flash lit up the corridor with each shot, and Ren could see the white glint of Grimm masks between each shot.

There was a flash. Concrete shattered and puffed, as the return fire went wide. The team came behind, Cardin slid up next to him firing methodically as Winter took up the rear. Russel stayed with Ozpin, breaking their usual close quarters formation.

They advanced, steadily and smoothly, as they kept up the pressure. Ren saw a red blur topple onto the ground, turning blue as it flickered shortly. Then, the light died.

_Click._

Ren felt and heard the distinct sound of his rifle locking back, "Reloading!" He spun back behind Winter, ducking low as she levelled her rifle to keep up the barrage. Ren reloaded with practiced ease, the disorienting flashes of light and dark unaffecting muscle memory honed through thousands of repetitive action.

"Reloading!" Cardin bellowed, and Ren moved forward to take his place.

Someone held out their weapon from the corner, and let loose a blind fire volley on full auto. There were a series of flashes as bullets stitched up the hallway, into the ceiling and ground, wildly inaccurate. Winter conjured up a white barrier, her glyphs glowing bright enough to illuminate the entire stretch. It sparked and flickered as bullets hammered into it, flattening and dropping harmlessly onto the ground.

Suppressive fire, Ren recognized, but for what?

One of the red blurs leaned out.

"Shield, shield, shield!" Ren screamed.

Winter's barrier expanded in an instant, covering the entire height of the hallway, a glowing white wall separating both sides.

There was a concussive boom, and the entire world shook. Ren's ears popped and rang as he suddenly went deaf. Winter's barrier cracked, and smoke filled the corridor.

"Grenade launcher!" Cardin yelled, "Grenade!"

"Winter!" Ren coughed, "On my mark!"

Winter ducked back behind Cardin, her eye closed and focused.

Ren and Cardin shot again and again, at the corner where the grenadier fired from, hoping to pin him. Ren could see seven red blobs, now more distinctly humanoid in his vision. One was shooting blindly, not exposing his body, while the other was reloading. Ren watched as the red blob looked at his friends, and nodded.

The grenadier leaned out.

"Now!" Ren screamed.

A second white glyph wall materialized in front of the Fang, right at the moment when the grenade was fired.

The grenade detonated not a few steps in front of the shooter, shaking the entire building with its enclosed blast. Above the detonation, screams and curses rang out. Ren saw two red lights instantly snuffed out. The other lights stumbled, disorientated by the contained explosion.

"Into them!" Winter shouted, slinging back her rifle and drawing out her sword and pistol, "Hakkaa paalle!"

The legionnaires, upon hearing the command obeyed instantly, drawing out blades and close quarters sidearms.

Then, as one, they bellowed, "Cut them down!"

Russel, despite staying with Ozpin, unleashed his semblance.

Winter and her soldiers emerged from the billowing smoke, her intricate sabre and the beautiful revolver that used to belong to Ironwood gleaming in the glow of her glyphs.

In that moment, the White Fang hesitated. A wave of terror washed over them, locking joints in place and freezing logical thought. All of a sudden, the roars of charging men seemed like the screech of Banshee Grimm, heralding their demise.

Then, they were upon each other.

Winter unloaded three heavy calibre rounds into the face mask of the first man she saw, and ran her sword through the second, gutting him in one simple flourish.

Cardin's mace sent one terrorist careening across the room like a broken doll as he fired his pistol methodically.

Ren had drawn out both his bladed pistols, breaking through Aura with a barrage of bullets before carving bodies open in a string of Mistrali killing katas.

None of them saw the black shadow that flitted past them, straight for Russel and Ozpin.

Russel felt the attack coming behind before he saw her. He wasn't gifted with faunus night vision, but he had trained at Beacon for a time too. The way the air smelled, the way his skin prickled, the slow emergence of sorrow and dread from the back of his mind and heart.

It stank of Grimm.

Russel spun, drawing out his twin blades. Sparks flew as metal met claw, and he caught a brief flash of black, white and red

He jinxed back hacking out, but his blade only met smoke.

"Ozpin!" Russel shouted.

"I'm unharmed," Ozpin said.

"Was that-?"

"Grimm, yes."

Striking his blades together, it ignited into two flaming blades, driving the darkness back.

He scanned the area, ignoring the swirling melee going on not far from him. His eyes tried to pierce the long shadows cast by his flaming blades. He flourished with his weapons, getting his muscles ready into the _flow_ that dictated his combat style. The shadows moved along with him.

All apart from one dark corner on the edges of his vision.

_There!_

Russel tossed one of his blades at the patch of darkness. It _moved_ , like a shadow being thrown by a switching light source. The flaming blade grazed his target.

Blake reappeared on the side of him, ignoring Russel entirely as she struck at her designated target- Ozpin.

With a wave, Blake was thrown away in a blinding flash of green light. She skidded on the ground, twirling up gracefully, and landed on its feet before vanishing into the darkness again.

Ozpin lowered his hand, giving Russel a small smile, like a teacher catching a student in an awkward moment. "Close one, there."

Unholstering his pistol, Russel cursed. Had it been anyone but Ozpin, Russel would have failed, "Sorry sir." He muttered sheepishly.

That was no normal Grimm, or even faunus. Russel had no idea what it was, but it looked like a woman.

Adopting the blade and firearm technique developed by Winter, Russel steadied his aim with his blade arm, his dagger's light acting like a torch, piercing the darkness.

A black flicker ran up the wall. Russel snapped around, raking shots into shadow. It lunged at him, and this time Russel saw her.

Bone white skin, blood red eyes, flowing raven black hair.

He didn't hesitate to shoot.

His pistol exploded as Grimm talons bisected the barrel. On pure instinct alone, Russel stabbed forwards, skinning and burning the entire length of the creature's outstretched arm, his fists deflecting the deadly blow aimed at his throat.

With a roar, Russel drove himself forwards, letting go of his ruined pistol and grabbing hold of his enemy, his other arm hacking and slashing at the exposed torso. Blade met flesh, parting and cauterizing it with extreme heat.

Blake screamed. Russel hesitated, stopping in his onslaught and opted for tossing his target onto the floor. The scream sounded too human, too lifelike to belong to a Grimm.

It was then did Russel recognize the face.

Blake rolled to her feet ready to attack again. But then, something made her stop. She looked up and darted forwards, vanishing like smoke in the air.

"Shit." Russel muttered, picking up his thrown blade. It had embedded itself into the wall, charring it black, "I think I knew her."

"It is possible," Ozpin conceded, "the nature of Grimm is far more complex than what we reveal to the general Huntsmen society."

"No I mean," Russel clicked his tongue, ignoring the implications of Ozpin's comment, "I think she attended Beacon."

"My answer is still the same."

And just like that, Russel wondered if he should be protecting this man at all.

He slung his rifle forwards and reloaded, trying not to dwell on it. They still had enemies to kill.

Winter kicked the body off her sword, freeing her weapon. The faunus was still struggling, her pale skin and black hissing blood giving away their Grimm nature. Winter stabbed her sword down through the faunus's throat, severing the spinal cord.

Around her, Ren and Cardin were just mopping up, their uniforms were matted and wet with smoking black ichor. The pair went around, putting bullets into the heads of each fallen body just to be sure. They had faced Black Claws before, and they knew of their survivability.

But nothing could survive the destruction of their head or function with the severing of their spinal cord.

Russel jogged up behind, his rifle sweeping about. Winter saw that his daggers were smoking.

"Trouble?"

"Yea, assassin. Grimm or some kind."

Winter shot Ozpin a look, "All good, sir?"

"He performed admirably, given the circumstances," Ozpin said.

"He fucked up, didn't he?" Cardin snorted, reloading his weapons.

"Shut up," Russel grumbled, "Keep your eyes open. This one's a sneaky bitch."

Winter looked over the Ren, "Ren, how does the path forward look?"

The man blinked as he focused on his semblance. He looked around, front and back. He snapped his rifle up, "They're on our tail. 10 seconds."

"We can take em," Cardin said.

"We don't have the ammo," Ren shot back. He paused, "Contact in 3, 2, 1."

Ren immediately fired a burst. Winter could hear the enraged shouts down the way they came from.

"Forwards and up the stairs! Go!" Winter roared.

* * *

Blake landed in front of Adam, wincing with every movement. She rose, and pointed to the direction where she had encountered her targets. They were coming towards them, Adam knew. He could hear the gunshots and the distant shouting voices.

Adam nodded, "What of Trask and his squad?" But he knew the answer. She would not have retreated if they were still alive.

Blake shook her head, confirming his suspicions.

Then, he spotted the black blood dripping onto the pristine white floor.

"Shit, Blake. You're wounded." Adam leaned down, gesturing for her arm. She held it up to him. It was already knitting back together, but it was clear that Dust had been used. Had it been a clean blade or bullet wound, her Grimm physiology would have already compensated for the damage.

Rage. Hot and heavy, boiled through his veins. Those worms dared to hurt Blake, to draw blood. He had killed the bastards that were responsible for hurting Blake in her past life, and he will do so again in this.

He pulled her into an embrace. He could feel her shuddering. Was it fear? Disgust? Or simply her dead nerves misfiring. Deep down, he knew which it was.

"We'll get them. I won't let them hurt you, I swear."

With a gesture, he advanced with the rest of his team. The other teams were closing in. Soon they would have their prey trapped like rats in a cage.

* * *

As Cardin approached the ground levels, he could see light. They were finally above ground, near the exit.

Finally, he was getting sick of fighting in the dark.

As a figure rounded the corner, Cardin double-tapped.

He was not rewarded with the usual scream or meaty impact, but metallic clangs.

A sword-wielding man stepped forward, his red blade shimmering with power. His signature Grimm mask gave away his field position.

"Oh shit," Cardin grumbled and raked the corridor with gunfire. He charged into the room, advancing despite the danger.

They had to get out of the fatal funnel.

Ren stepped forwards beside him, lending in his firepower too as more White Fang emerged from the end of the corridor. A glowing white glyph popped into existence in front of the two men, giving them some cover as they advanced, their bodies bent low. Bullets pinged and cracked off the glyph, across the ceiling, smashing the windows and stitching across the wall.

"Schnee!" The man roared, "I'll have your head, Schnee!"

The speed of the man was mesmerizing. He dodged and weaved in a blink of an eye, his sword a red blur as he swatted bullets out of the air, sending them ricocheting away.

He was getting close. The speed and ferocity was on par with Winter.

Suddenly, Cardin did not fancy his chances against this man in a duel.

But they were not here to fight and die.

Behind him, Winter and Russel had smashed open the window closest to them and had clambered out.

Ozpin was all but thrown out by Russel as he fired his rifle one handed, suppressing the enemy. He could hear Russel cackling, "Not today! Assholes!" as he made his exit.

Cardin patted Ren on the shoulder, as he dove out after his team. Several White Fang had followed their lead, breaking windows and chasing after them in the snow.

Cardin dropped to one knee, and starting firing. Winter and Russel were low on the ground too, shooting as they waited for Ren to move.

There was a red flash.

A thunderous strike sent something barrelling out of the window. Glass shattered, cutting and tearing the figure as he landed in the snow. Bright red blood coloured the snow, as the figure struggled to stand up.

A puff of powder exploded from the man's back, causing him to stumble. Then another shot blew out a chunk of his thigh.

"Oh shit," Cardin said, louder this time.

It was Ren.

* * *

Adam Taurus groaned, taking cover behind the wall. Bullets zipped above him, dangerously close. He could feel the entire wall judder with each hit. The rest of the squad was taking cover. Several of them were on the floor, their heads blown open. They were taking too many casualties.

He held his head, pain suddenly overwhelming him. He felt nauseous. Blood ran down his nose, and he coughed, his stomach doing summersaults.

He had gotten close to the pink eyed soldier. The man had actually blocked Adam's blade with his bare hands. The only person that could do that was Cinder Fall, and she was a Maiden.

Adam was then struck twice in the head, and it was only then Adam realized how the man was able to catch his blade.

Aura control.

Had it not been for Adam's own Aura mitigating the damage, he had no doubt his own brains would be splattered cross the hallway.

He hoped he killed that little bastard with his semblance strike.

Blake appeared beside him, looking at him with her black and red eyes. She tilted her head, questioningly.

"I'm alright," he spat out a glob of blood.

Picking up his weapon, he switched it to ranged combat mode.

He popped out, scanning for his prey.

There was a red streak where the soldier had landed. A glowing Beowolf was dragging the still kicking man away to safety as he fired back with his pistol. Another Beowolf was in front of the man, acting as cover as well as pushing him through the thick snow.

Adam took aim, and fired off a shot. The Beowolf took the hit but didn't dissipate. He took another shot, and Adam snarled in frustration as more summoned Grimm materialized and shielded the man.

There was a flash in the snow. There was a resounding ding, and Adam grunted as he pitched back. His head rang like a bell, and his neck hurt from the whiplash. His nose was crushed and his cheeks bruised.

"Fuck," he groaned as he tore off his Grimm mask. It was dented where the bullet had hit.

They still had to kill those people. If he did not succeed, Blake would be taken away from him. He breathed, steadying his hammering heart.

A face loomed over Adam, and he groaned internally. Tyrian grinned as if he was witnessing Remnant's best practical joke. Adam did not need this psychopath looming over him after he was just shot in the face.

"Aw, having a bit of trouble killing a little farm boy?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tyrian," Adam rolled to his back, grabbing his weapons. "Where the fuck did you go?"

"A little hunting, after you rudely interrupted my fun. I thought you White Fang had it all under control." Tyrian sniggered, "Obviously not."

"Then get your ass out there, Tyrian," Adam snarled, "Why did she send you if you are not going to help?"

"Oh, but I am," Tyrian nodded, "Let me show you how it's done."

* * *

Winter dragged Ren behind the building, dismissing her summons with a thought.

"I'm sorry ma'am," Ren breathed raggedly, "I fucked up."

The plate had taken the brunt of the attack. It was shattered, cleaved through. Ren had projected all his Aura into protection, and the attack still went through. The wound itself was a deep cut across his chest.

His backplate had saved him from a potentially fatal shot, but the life-threatening wound was the bullet hole in this thigh. Ren was already tying a tourniquet around his leg, gritting his teeth and cursing colourfully with each twist.

"Can you walk?" Winter asked softly, the man was badly hurt, but there was still a firefight going on.

Ren shook his head. "I'll hold them off if I have to."

His eyes suddenly widened. In that instant Winter knew he had detected something.

"Above!" Ren yelled.

She snapped her rifle up, already firing.

Tyrian descended upon the group, cackling, gunfire blazing from his wrist guns.

A white Nevermore soared upwards towards him, cawing in agony as it was shredded by the fusillade. Tyrian twirled in midair, and bisected the Grimm summon on his way down.

The three standing soldiers were already running, weapons alive in their fists.

Winter reached the man first, as he landed. She charged in, her sword flashing overhead. Tyrian's scorpion tail lashed, about to parrying the attack perfectly. At the last second, Winter dropped her stance. She thundered a kick into Tyrians face. His head snapped back, ending his shrill laughter as he caught himself in a graceful handspring.

Winter landed, bringing her glyph shield up. Russel and Cardin darted outwards from both sides. Russel had fixed his bayonet, firing as he came in. Cardin leapt ahead, a roar that cut even above the gunfire.

Tyrian's stinger met him in the chest, breaking and wedging into the ballistic plating. Cardin was picked up from the ground, and hurled straight into Russel. The two men collided with each other in a tangle of weapons and limbs.

Winter was upon Tyrian in a heartbeat. Tyrian weaved aside from the flurry, dodging and leaping back like eel. Despite Winter's expert swordsmanship, none of the attacks connected.

Something white, slower than a bullet, soared towards Tyrian from the corner of his eye. He battered it aside with his tail. To his surprise, it was a snowball. The wounded soldier and tossed a _snowball_ at him.

That brief distraction was all Winter needed. Her sabre finally struck true. It cracked into his the side of his head and skimmed off his Aura. Tyrian wheeled around, following the momentum and answered Winter with his own strike.

His hands, glowing purple with his semblance, tore into Winter's throat. Winter gasped as she choked, the layer of protective Aura instantly dissipating. Winter looked up to see the scorpion tail flashing downwards, right at her throat. She tried to lift up her blade, but she knew she wouldn't be fast enough.

Without warning, Tyrian was smashed aside as a black armoured truck collided into him. Winter recognized her own vehicle. The engines were wildly revving as it skidded across the snow. Bullets punched and clobbered the bodywork as it shielded the team from incoming fire. The door of the truck burst open.

"Get in!" Qrow roared.

Winter looked for Tyrian, but he was gone. She slung out her rifle and starting firing. Cardin had thrown Ren across his back and was bolting towards the vehicle, Russel close behind, almost dragging Ozpin.

Shots whined close, and the wing mirror vanished in a shower of glass. Winter fired her weapon expertly back covering her men's extraction, pitching over figures in the distance with precise shots. Without much ceremony, the 4 men barrelled into the car.

Winter was the last to enter the car. "Go!" Winter threw the car doors shut.

Qrow let go of the clutch and slammed the accelerator.

The engine stalled, and died.

"Are you serious?" Qrow growled at the car, "Are you fucking with me?"

"Brother's fucking dammit, Qrow!" Winter yelled.

"I know I know!" Qrow fumbled with the keys.

The windows cracked and cobwebbed as bullets smacked into them. Cardin threw himself on top of the Auraless Ren, shielding his teammate from the deadly barrage.

The amount of punishment the vehicle was taking felt like it was constantly being punched and kicked around.

The engine sputtered and wheezed, once, twice, then it finally rumbled to life. With an ugly screech of metal, they sped forwards, bullets chasing in their wake. The engine roared unsteadily, and the vehicle slid unsteadily across the icy ground.

The White Fang squad chased after them, grenades detonating too close for comfort, rocking the vehicle with it's blasts. They raced across the main driveway, over the frozen red snow littered with Atlesian dead, the men and women butchered within the first few minutes of the attack. Smoke billowed from Main Operating Base Elysia, and several floors were on fire. In the distance Bullheads and warships were converging on the chaos.

"Where?" Qrow yelled,

"Anywhere but here!" Winter yelled back.

The car rocked with a thump. There was someone on the roof. A constant drumbeat sounded. They were shooting, but the calibre was much too small to penetrate the armoured roof.

"Oh for fuck sake," Cardin cursed, and shifted his rifle across the cramped space, his movements drawing hisses of pain from Ren. The standard Atlas military rifle chambered a much higher calibre.

He fired straight through the roof, the contained gunfire momentarily deafening everyone and almost blowing out Qrow's eardrums.

Daylight poured in through the holes, and a shadow could be seen dancing and weaving. Qrow slammed the brakes, and Tyrian toppled forwards, rolling off the bonnet and under the car.

More thuds, this time from under the vehicle, hammering from the front of the car to back.

The door on Cardin's side suddenly flew open. Tyrian leaned in, coming face to face with Ren.

They looked at each other, recognition and surprise giving them pause.

Ren levelled his pistol.

Tyrian saw the weapon last second, and threw himself off the vehicle. The bullet whizzed past his head, taking off the lock of his braided ponytail.

"Bastard!" Ren screamed, the sudden fit of rage and anger on display so rare it gave his teammates pause. Ren started to scramble, to push Cardin off him as he crawled to the open door, flapping in the wind. It looked like he was about to jump out before Cardin hauled him back in and slammed the door shut.

"Ren! Ren, what the fuck are you doing?" Cardin yelled.

"It was him!" Ren roared in frustration, "Fuck! That was the bastard!"

"Ren!" Winter turned from her front seat, "Stand down, Ren!"

"No! You don't understand! Qrow!"

"What?" Qrow called back, surprised to be suddenly addressed.

"That's the fucker that killed them!" Ren screamed, his voice cracking, tears of anger welling from his eyes, "He killed Nora! He took Jaune-"

Qrow's blood ran cold. He knew the words that were coming next.

"-and he took Ruby!"


	6. Bait

**Bait**

_0830  
__Ilia's apartment, Atlas  
  
  
_ The sudden blaring from her scroll nearly made Ilia skewer it with her weapon.

It took a few seconds for her sleep-addled mind to process that she was not under attack, and it was simply an alert from her scroll. She grumbled in annoyance, as she slid her weapon back on the edge of her bed.

Damned technology.

It must have been an alarm she had accidentally set, after all, working night security for Whitley's school had her flip her sleeping schedule on its head. Rolling in her bed, her long messy hair tangling her vibrating scroll, she blindly searched for the device, wincing at the constant loud and ear grating noise.

The damn thing won't shut up.

Finally, she wrestled it out of her hair. Squinting her bleary eyes at the bright screen, she frowned. A government warning, an order for everyone to stay indoors due to…Grimm activity?

She bolted upright.

"Shit."

She needed to get to the Schnee Manor. Most likely, other security huntsmen were making their way there. Just her luck, for something on this scale to happen within a few days of being hired.

Ilia rolled out of her bed, cursing under her breath at the shocking cold Atlas air.

Throwing on some warm clothes, she drew back the curtains, and paused.

In the distance, warships and bullheads dotted the skies like flies over a corpse. In that moment, the true number and might of the Atlesian Air Force on display. Distant sirens wailed as law enforcement vehicles raced through the streets. As she looked down, she could see confused drivers and pedestrians looking into the skies and pointing. They were anxious too.

The fear in the city must be palpable, to warrant such a show of force.

Something was off. Ilia studied the flight patterns for a moment. Some warships were heading out of the city, while some seem to circle aimlessly in the skies at a very low altitude. If it were a simple guard against a Grimm attack, there would be no airships circling that low. The entire formation would be more static to counter a Grimm horde.

Why was there also law enforcement? If this was truly a Grimm invasion, surely it would just be the Huntsmen and their particular military branch being activated to deal with the threat. Perhaps it was a large enough force to warrant some control? Or perhaps there was another protest?

A Bullhead passed over her apartment complex, and Ilia felt her Aura spike. Someone had been aiming at her. Ilia squinted, noticing that the side hatches for most of the bullheads were open. Soldiers with long-barrelled sniper rifles were scanning the streets and windows, as if hunting for a target.

Why were they...

"Oh…oh no." Realization dawned upon her, and she felt her stomach clench.

The Atlesians must have detected something, and were using the Grimm as a cover-up for mass mobilization. The flight patterns were not that to hunt Grimm, but to hunt men.

That could only mean one thing.

Someone, or a group must have slipped the net and gotten into Atlas. Ilia could only think of one group that has ever done so before and warranted a similar response.

The White Fang.

They must have come for her. Ilia knew she couldn't run from the White Fang, but this soon?

It had barely been a month.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and the familiar rush of adrenaline flooded her veins. She needed to get out, to find Winter or...no. She couldn't bother Winter again. Maybe-

The doorbell rang.

Loud, clear, and sonorous.

Ilia froze, her mind going blank.

They had found her.

"Fuck!" Ilia hissed.

Snatching Lightning Lash, she searched her room for an escape route.

She was on the tenth floor of this apartment complex, and while it was possible to scale down, the icy conditions made it very risky. Most of her missions were not carried out in such harsh cold conditions.

She might be able to hide from the Atlesian eyes in the sky, but if they had any thermal imaging...The snipers might suspect her and open fire. She did not want to die to Atlas guns, nor White Fang blades.

Ilia's heartbeat was all over the place, and her breathing was ragged. Just when she had the slightest hope of living a normal life, it was snuffed out. It was unfair, it was...it was retribution for her betrayal. Ilia swallowed. Perhaps she deserved this. Her team had put their trust in her, and she led them to their graves.

Just the other day, she had dreamed about Dandee. Perhaps this was karma, perhaps this was fate.

The doorbell rang again, followed by an incessant knock.

Ilia weighed her choices. They knew she was here. They must have been studying her this whole time. If she tried to climb out, she would be gunned down by the snipers in the sky. If she waited, they were going to breach the door and kill her anyway.

The door banged, forcefully this time.

Or she could take the fuckers by surprise. Initiative and violence of action, that was what won fights.

Maybe it is retribution. But she won't run away anymore.

Blake ran in the beginning, but in the end, she stood her ground. Look where that got her, though.

Thankfully, no one was obsessed with Ilia enough to turn her into a Grimm.

Ilia crept up to the door, Lightning Lash tight in her hands.

The smell hit her, so strong she could smell it even through the door.

Blood.

With a cry, she flung open the door as she flew out.

Winter recoiled in surprise, her hands already up in combat stance. At the last second, Ilia redirected her weapon to the ground, but she couldn't stop her own momentum.

They crashed into each other, and Ilia was almost immediately spun around and pinned to the wall as Winter's training kicked in.

"For fuck sake!" Winter yelled, "It's me!"

* * *

Ilia let the group at the door in. She recognized Ozpin and Ren, frowning slightly at a rather large crow perched on top of Winter's shoulder. It cawed, as if in greeting.

Ren was being helped along by Ozpin, and to Ilia's shock, the man's black uniform was matted with ash and blood. Ren and Winter stank of burnt dust, adrenaline sweat, and iron. Ilia's sharp smell amplified the familiar smell tenfold. The blood she had smelled was Ren's.

Winter looked at Ilia's humble new lodgings. The room was cozy, and still had the smell of a new house. The only furniture seen was a small bed, a small plain carpet, a wooden table, and two chairs. It was evident Ilia didn't have the time nor resources to fully decorate the place yet.

All of a sudden, Winter felt a little guilty for barging in, stained in blood, sweat, and burnt Dust, leaving dirty snowmelt footprints on the pristine wooden floor.

Winter made a mental note to take a mop to it as soon as they were secure.

Winter cleared her throat, "Try not to bleed on the carpet, Ren,"

"I'll stay off it," Ren grunted, wincing with each step as he hobbled on Ozpin.

"Brothers," Ilia hissed, "what's going on out there? What happened to you?"

"Got shot," Ren muttered, causing Ilia to roll her eyes, "your old friends are a cheerful bunch."

Without much ceremony, he handed her his rifle, and ripped off his armored vest. He looked around, looking for a suitably dirty spot to dump his blood-soaked gear. Giving up, he just dropped it in a corner. "Sorry bout your new place." He muttered.

"Don't worry about it," Ilia sheepishly rolled the rifle over in her hands, "where were you hit? Do you need anything?"

"Leg. Bullet went through, missed the bone. Leave me for a few hours. Just focusing and letting Aura do its thing," Ren grunted, stripping off the rest of his gear. Pistol holsters, magazine pouches, everything came off and was unceremoniously dumped into a pile. Ilia was sure her apartment was going to be stinking of blood for days to come.

Finally, Ren took his rifle back and plopped himself on the floor, folding his legs together. Ilia watched in fascination as the man simply closed his eyes, and started meditating. The rifle sat on the floor in front of him, placed in an almost ceremonial manner.

Ilia could feel the air around the man slightly heat up, as he focused on channeling his Aura.

"It is an unfortunate turn of events, Miss Amit-" Ozpin started.

Ilia whirled around to the man, "Catalina Ivo,"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name is Catalina Ivo," Ilia said, though truthfully she still wasn't used to the name. She pointed to her ears, and at the walls.

Ozpin nodded, understanding her paranoia.

"Well, Ms. Ivo," Ozpin said, and somehow that still made Ilia cringe internally, "rest assured, your old acquaintances are not here for you."

"Then why-" Ilia started, fury bubbling inside her stomach. For all she knew, they might just lead the White Fang to her.

"Oz-," Winter coughed, catching herself, "Oscar, needs a place to stay until I can get the unpleasantness between him and those friends of yours sorted out." She gave Ilia a hard look, "They might be anywhere. They have already found him at home, and I am unsure if they know our other...dwellings. So for now at least, Oscar needs to stay with you."

The crow cawed, then said in a very unnervingly human tone, "Stay! Stay!". It flapped its wings and hopped onto Ozpin's shoulder. "Boy stay!

Ilia almost jumped at that. She looked at the bird, "Did it just talk?"

"Yes," Winter confirmed, giving the bird a little ruffle in the neck. It splayed out its feathers as if in pride. "Oscar's little pet. Just don't feed him alcohol."

The crow cawed in protest.

* * *

Cardin and Russel sat in the car, parked in an underground parking lot. They were a good distance away from the attack site. The trouble right now is the very real possibility of being tracked. A car that is filled with bullet holes was going to stick out like a sore thumb. The priority right now is the remain low profile.

"Man, I wonder how Winter is going to talk to insurance about the car," Russel said absentmindedly, taking a long drag from his cigarette, "I think they are going to be pissed."

"I don't think any insurance covers "shot up by terrorists"," Cardin mumbled.

"Even if they did, most of the damage was from you."

"They don't need to know that, of course," Cardin grinned, taking a puff out of his cigarette.

They sat in silence in the car, feeling the cold air blow in from the bullet holes. Normally Winter would have them strung by their scalps if they smoked in her vehicle, but the damn thing was so shot up it was going to be scrapped anyway. It was amazing that the damn thing was still able to run at all.

"Shit man," Russel mumbled.

"Yeah," Cardin agreed, "shit."

"And I thought we had it rough," Russel snorted, "no wonder Ren doesn't want to talk about it."

"We did have it rough, Rus,"

"But I still got you, man. You and little Miya."

Cardin snorted, "Don't make it weird, dude. Makes it sound like we're married."

Russel laughed, but then stopped. "Oh shit, Ren is right. We do sound like an old married couple."

"Fuck that," Cardin chuckled, "as if he knows what married couples sound like."

Russel frowned, "Why wouldn't he?"

"Orphan, remember?" Cardin scoffed. He took another buff and sighed, smoke blowing out his nose and mouth, "Shit, you're right though. At least we know what happened to Dove and Sky."

"I'm not sure if how they went out is any better."

"Sure as hell beats guessing for all these years," Cardin said, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another, "at least we know Dove and Sky had it quick."

"Relatively," Russel grimaced.

"Shut up."

"I mean compared to Nora? Sure," Russel shuddered, "Fucking hell. No wonder he's fucked up."

"He's dedicated," Cardin shot back, "of course he wasn't going to leave her in the middle of nowhere."

"And that fucked him up, can't you see?" Russel said, "To have your girl, someone who had stuck with you since you were a child, slowly die of poison, then dragging her dead body all the way to Mistral? That's gotta fuck anyone up."

"And we are any different?" Cardin countered, "Are we any less fucked up, Rus? Truly?"

"Point," Russel conceded, "but I guess it doesn't change anything. We're all brothers now."

Cardin grunted in agreement. "I guess we're all a little fucked up there. That's why we're here, I guess."

"Have you tried being a recruiter? Rousing speech there. Would have signed up on the spot."

"Naw," Cardin flicked his cigarette onto the car floor and stamped it out, "I'm not a lying bastard."

Their scrolls chimed, and Cardin nodded to Russel. Cardin drew out his sidearm and pulled the slide back slightly in one to check the chamber. It was loaded. Satisfied, he let the slide snap back and tapped it lightly at the back to ensure the bullet was properly seated in the chamber.

Russel had commandeered one of Ren's pistols, his having been destroyed by that Grimm assassin. Slinging his rifle on his back, he got out of the car. With a nod, vanished from Cardin's view. There were not a lot of places to hide in a parking lot, but Russel was creative enough.

The stink of cigarette was thick in the air, and the harsh underground lights cast thick beams through the smoke. The enclosed underground parking offered less than ideal ventilation.

There was a distant machine purr as the gates opened. A car rumbled in, grey and unassuming. Cardin squinted against the headlights, seeing one shadowed figure in the car.

The headlights snapped off. Cardin's hand itched, his subconscious already pulling his hands to his concealed pistol. A figure stepped out, small and petite, she held a shopping bag over her chest, and Cardin had no doubt that she had a pistol tucked and hidden behind. He knew her, but he had to be sure.

"Say it now and say it right," Cardin called out.

"Myrtenaster," she said,

"Mirror," Cardin replied. They both dropped their guard. Cardin smiled, "Hello Ciel,"

"Winchester," Ciel Soleil nodded, "did you really have to bring the war back home? The roadblocks alone made me think of Menagerie."

"Home field advantage, girl," Cardin let out a short laugh, but Ciel's expression remained neutral. Cardin turned the laugh into an awkward cough. She's still the same, humourless, stick up her arse has a stick up its arse, woman.

"Anyway," Cardin cleared his throat, "We appreciate you helping. The situation right now calls for trust."

"I haven't been with the unit for a year, Winchester," Ciel pointed out, "I am just a humble instructor now."

"A legionnaire instructor," Cardin corrected, "Once a legionnaire, always a legionnaire."

"Always a legionnaire," Ciel echoed, smiling faintly. It was genuine. Her blue eyes softened for a brief moment. Without much ceremony, she held out an unassuming bag she carried. As Cardin took the package, his eyes fell on the scarred hands of Ciel. They were shaking. "The items you requested. Rest in the back of the car."

Cardin knew, under the long sleeves she wore, both her arms were badly scarred. A parting gift from a White Fang interrogator. She never recovered physically. The designated marksman of the unit, could not hold her aim steady anymore.

"Thanks, Ciel."

"Any time," she nodded. She tilted her head, as if sensing something, "you can tell Thrush to stop snooping around now."

"Dammit!" Russel's distant voice echoed through the parking lot. Russel dropped down from the ceiling, catching himself on the pipes and lowering himself down. He looked her Ciel, grinning, "How did you know?"

"Smelled you," She tapped her nose, "Only you smoke the Dusty Strikes brand."

"You and your sense of smell," Russel grumbled. He nodded to the car, "You coming with us?"

Ciel nodded. She looked at Winter's car, and looked back her the civilian car she drove in. She sighed, "I do not wish for my car to get shot. Insurance would have a fit."

"No promises," Cardin eyed Winter's damaged vehicle sheepishly, "you sure you okay with this? "

"I could hear the gunshots from my place, Winchester," Ciel said, "for you to contact me, it must be bad enough to want to stay low profile on our own turf. So yes, I am okay with this. Just come out alive."

"We will," Russel promised.

"Please," Ciel said again, a hard edge to her voice, "not one more. There's only so many of us left."

"You know we don't get to decide that," Cardin sighed.

"Yes, I know," Ciel said bitterly. She jabbed her thumb to the vehicle, "come on, enough talking. Let's move."

* * *

Tyrian was examining the car the target had used to escape. Vajo and three others stood watch around, huddled down low. The enhanced Black Claws, were not draped in a thermal reflective coat. Their Grimm physiology meant they couldn't show up on thermal imaging at all.

While Vajo did not need to breath anymore, his body's muscles still had the action ingrained. His black heart hammered with unease, and in turn, he breathed harder. The bullheads buzzed in the distance, and he was glad the car was underground instead of abandoned on the side of the road.

There were multiple tire tracks in the snow outside before they came. They couldn't have gotten far. The smell of smoke was still thick in the air as well as the smell of exhaust. Missed them by just a few minutes, it seems.

"Alright boys," Tyrian finally spoke up, "we're done here."

"We can keep tracking them," Vajo said, "I'm certain there is another vehicle, if we-"

"Hush now," Tyrian drew his finger up to his lips, "not to fret. I have everything I need right here."

"What do you mean?"

Tyrian laughed, "Oh, sometimes I forget. Not everyone knows the powers and knowledge granted to me by Her majesty."

"Tyrian?" Vajo asked, his skin crawling. Even the other Black Claws looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their boots, "If we want to catch up to them, we need to move now."

"Do not bother," Tyrian grinned. He ran his fingers across the frozen blood pool in the backseat and licked it. He closed his eyes, savouring the rich metallic tang. "I've got their blood. With Her blessings, that is all we need."

* * *

Twenty-seven men. That was all that was left. Almost half of their platoon was gone, but Adam never imagined assaulting a military base on Atlas's home turf would be easy.

Their assassination of General Ironwood five years ago had the entire unit wiped. The few survivors were living out the rest of lives in the deepest cells in Solitas prison.

Adam and his unit had failed, that much was obvious. The target, Oscar, had gotten away, and Adam had nothing to show for it other than the deaths of twenty-three Black Claws. Twenty-three good men and women, now lying cold and decaying in the flying city of Atlas. He knew all their names, and before the mission made an effort to get to know them on a personal level.

While some other of his White Fang compatriots would have boasted about the body count they left behind, Adam took no joy or pride in the destruction they wrought.

After all, he did not forget. The man that shot the bitch overseer that branded him was an Atlas military defector, not to mention a good number of faunus that signed up for the promise of a better life.

The burden of command was always the knowledge that he was directly involved in all manners of death, be it his side or the enemy. However, such was the price to pay, to keep Blake at his side.

They were hiding in a safehouse, one of the many designated locations scattered throughout Atlas, mapped and marked by Fang agents. Where they got the funding and access, Adam did not know. But he knew the politics of Atlas was as cutthroat as that in Menagerie, only outclassed by Mistral.

He nursed his bruised cheeks and broken nose with a bag of snow. The dull pain reminded him that he was alive, that he still had fight left in him. Of course, it paled in comparison to the slave branding. Blake sat at his side, as still and lifeless as a statue. Her wounds had already healed, faster than any Black Claw. Yet, tears ran down her face. She was weeping silently, but Adam did not know why.

She weeps because of all the lives she has ended. She weeps because she must obey your will. She weeps because of you. Adam blinked, reeling at the sudden barrage of thoughts. Suddenly, it was hard to breath, and Adam floundered as he tried to wrest control of his flailing mind. This throat tightened, his heart hammered. Brothers! What's going on?

"Adam?"

Adam snapped around, dropping the snowpack and halfway drawing out his sword. Yuma blinked, confused. He raised his hands.

"Adam, it's just me."

"Shit, sorry," Adam relaxed, shaking his head, "still on edge." He licked his dry lips and leaned back into his chair. "What is it?"

"I'm certain the military have lost our trace," Yuma said, "the Bullheads are circling around like headless flies."

"They would be on us if they detected anything," Adam nodded, "As long as we keep ourselves hidden, we should be fine."

"Another one of the good doctor's tricks?"

"Dr Watts did promise we won't be detected by any automated system in Atlas," Adam shrugged, "they rely too much on machines. That was their greatest strength and their greatest weakness. We exploited that during our attack on Beacon, and we are exploiting it now when we are right under their noses."

"Can we exploit it enough to get out of here alive?"

They sat in silence, listening to the distant buzz of engines. Seconds ticked by, and Adam's breathing slowed.

Finally, Adam lowered his head, "I don't know, Yuma. I don't like this at all, sacrificing our men for…whatever this is."

"Then why are we here?"

"We needed the strength and edge over the humans," Adam began, "the people that back our revolution hav-"

Yuma snorted, "You wanted her," he cut in, pointing at Blake, "that's why you went along with the orders of this...questionable group."

"Yes," Adam admitted, "but believe me when I say negotiations had begun long before Blake was-"

"-killed," Yuma said cast the Grimm thing a wary look.

"-reborn," Adam corrected.

"Do you really believe that, Adam?" Yuma asked, "Tell me, as a friend that has stuck with you since the Dust mines. As a friend that has fought alongside you since the beginning. Do you?"

Adam was silent.

"You knew this was rotten from the beginning," Yuma sighed, "else you would have become a Black Claw the first chance you got."

"Yuma-"

There was a rhythmic knock on the door.

The trackers were back.

* * *

"Any luck?" Adam asked Vajo. The Black Claw shrugged and gestured with his head towards Tyrian.

"He called it off. I don't know what he's doing. But I don't like it."

Adam nodded. As he made to move to Tyrian, Vajo caught his arm. He leaned in whispering softly, "Adam. Are you sure about this guy?"

"What do you mean?"

"He took some blood samples from the car. Not sure what he plans to do with it, but it stinks of crazy."

"He is crazy, Vajo." Adam said.

The faunus rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

Adam stiffened, then nodded. "I'll talk to him."

As he walked away, his mind raced. Blood samples. Unknown to most of the population of Remnant, blood was the most potent component when it came to sorcery and magic. He glanced at Blake, who say silently in the corner of the room.

Adam had seen the potency of blood with his very own eyes, after all.

To the layman, Tyrian's actions were that of a madman, a superstitious zealot, and a fool. But Adam knew better.

Tyrian was ready doing preparations when Adam gathered the mental will to deal with the man. Intricate symbols, runes, and writing were being etched painstakingly into the floor, one stroke at a time with his own tail stinger. It was almost artistic and scholarly, but they made Adam's head hurt if he tried to look too hard.

The mad glint in Tyrian's eyes were not there, and his face was uncharacteristically focused and peaceful. His movements were practiced and confident, like a Mistrili calligraphy artist.

A thought surfaced into Adam's mind. Perhaps Tyrian was the only sane man on Remnant, it was the rest of the world that was insane. Or perhaps he had reached a sort of enlightenment, for no madman could possibly render such intricate works, with such intense concentration, without some revelation of a sort.

The rest of the Black Claws had, for good reason, kept their distance from the outsider. Despite being similarly enhanced, only Tyrian knew the true nature of their "gifts".

Adam did too, and that made it all the worse.

"Tyrian," Adam called out.

The scorpion faunus held up a hand for patience. Adam waited.

He watched as the man unfold a roll of bloodstained leather cut from the vehicle. Tyrian started to chant. Adam tuned the voices out and looked away. He knew what was coming next, if Blake's resurrection was anything to go by.

Black blood began to seep from the corners of Tyrian's mouth, his eyes, and his nose. Yet the man didn't seem to take notice. He spat on the leather piece, and Adam finally looked back. The runes were glowing red. Black Grimm substances seemed to ooze out of the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

Adam blinked, and realized it was his imagination.

Black smoke hissed, dissolving the piece of bloodstained leather.

"I see him," Tyrian hissed, "I feel him."

Tyrian tilted his head, eyes closed, as if deep in thought. "The boy with pink eyes. This is his blood. Our paths have crossed twice now. Our destinies are tied."

"Can you feel where he is? There is a good chance our target is with him."

Tyrian nodded, and opened his eyes. "Give me a map. I will tell you the exact location."

Adam flicked out his scroll, and Tyrian pinpointed an apartment complex not far from where they had found the abandoned vehicle. Getting there undetected would be a challenge, but doable.

Adam nodded, satisfied, "and the man you are…sensing. Can you get rid of him? It will make our job easier."

A wicked smile split Tyrian's lips, "I can. In fact, I know what was precious to him. I remember that kill. I remember all too well…"

* * *

"Ren?"

Someone was calling for him, but Ren was not entirely sure if it was real. He had been meditating, the throbbing pain in his leg had ebbed away, only to be replaced by a dull ache that pulsed like a broken heart.

But somehow, when he opened his eyes, he was…where was he?

The scorpion faunus was gone. Ruby's screams had long faded, although it still echoed in his mind. Where did he take them? How was he still alive? Last he remembered was….oh.

Nora…She had taken the strike meant for him. Why did she do that?

He knew the answer, he always knew.

"Ren?"

Who the fuck keeps calling his name?

"Ren. Your name is Ren, right?"

Ren opened his eyes. Ilia was kneeling in front of him, her face lined with worry.

"You are sick, Ren," She stated, "I could feel your body heat from here. Brothers, were you running a fever before?"

"I…." Ren blinked. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

He stood up, but his footing was unsteady. He was sweating buckets. His gut heaved and somersaulted, but what hit him most of all was the ache in his heart. It was like someone had stabbed a rod of hot iron through his chest, yet he knew the turmoil was emotional.

Ren swallowed again. He could feel buried emotions threaten to break through the iron mental gate he had built. He hasn't felt this sadness, this amount of despair since…since…

"Where is Winter? And…Oscar? And the others? Where are they?" Ren asked. He just wanted to say something, anything. The information itself didn't matter.

"Oscar's in my room with Winter. Russel is outside, I think keeping a lookout, I think. Your other friend, Cardin, I think, he's using the shower."

"Russel? Cardin? Shower? How long was…"

"They arrived a while ago with normal clothes and ammunition," Ilia looked at him worriedly, "Ren, you should let Winter know that you aren't feeling well."

Qrow cawed, flapping over to him and landing on his shoulder. Ren resisted the terrible urge to take a swipe at the bird.

"I think your friend's pet is telling you to sit down," Ilia said, "should I call for Winter? Or Cardin? That's his name, right?"

Ren shook his head. His hands were wet. He was shaking.

"We need to move, Ilia."

"Ren? Have you sensed something?"

He didn't respond. Ilia's voice did not sound like her own. It sounded like-

"Renny?"

"Don't call me that!" Ren snapped, he looked up, his eyes widening.

Nora looked at him, stunned. She looked pale, her skin had an unhealthy shade of purple to it. Black veins of poisoned blood could be seen, and her eyes were red. She looked at him, her eyes accusingly soft and sad. Her cheeks were gaunt, and she looked weak, frail.

She looked like that the day she died.

"Renny?"

"Nora?

"Why did you let me die?"

He opened his mouth, to try to speak, to say anything. His legs buckled.

Ren collapsed to his knees, "I…I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. I was too slow! I was-"

He choked, unable to form any words, unable to process the sudden torrent of emotion.

He felt her touch, her soft warm hands cupping his face. They lifted his gaze up, into her sorrowful gaze.

"Liar," she said, "you said you'll stay with me, forever. But I left this world alone, Ren."

"I…."

"I'm still waiting for you, you know? How long do I have to keep on waiting? I thought you loved me."

"I do!" Ren shouted, grabbing hold of her hands. He wanted to drag her into his embrace, to hold her so tight she will never leave again, "There hasn't been a day gone by when I didn't think of you. I…I just wish…"

Nora knelt down in front of him. Her eyes were sad, brimming with tears of betrayal and hurt. There was something in her hand, and she pushed it into his chest. It was cold and heavy. The weight was familiar.

"We could be together, Ren," Nora whispered, "but it will hurt you. It will hurt others. But I just miss you so, so much."

"Nora?"

"Please?" She looked at him in the eyes, "I know it's selfish. But please? I just want to be with you."

Ren looked down at the object. It was his pistol.

He blinked, steeling his heart. He knew what to do.

Without flinching, he put the gun to the bottom of his chin, and-

Ilia barrelled, into Ren, the shot went wide and skimmed into Ilia. She shrieked as her Aura deflected the bullet. She pinned his pistol arm to the ground, but the man's strength was monstrous.

"Ren!" She screamed, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Cardin came barrelling out of the showers, naked and still covered in soap foam. He held a pistol in one hand. Winter leaned out of Ilia's room, rifling sweeping. They paused for a heartbeat, before realizing what is happening.

"Help!" Ilia yelled, "Help me over here!"

Ren howled. His eyes were rolled over and white. He was frothing at the mouth, like a sick wild animal. He threw Ilia off, and raised his pistol to-

His teammates piled into him. Cardin picked up the man and slammed him into the ground. Winter followed up and lashed out with her boot, catching Ren in the side of the head.

He went limp, knocked out cold. Winter realized he didn't even have his Aura up.

Russel's voice crackled through the radio, demanding to know what happened.

"What the fuck happened, Ilia?" Cardin demanded, "Why did he try to shoot you?"

"He didn't!" Ilia said, "He was going to shoot himself. He just fell to his knees and tried to shoot himself!"

"What the fuck?" Cardin growled, "That doesn't sound like him!"

"But he did!"

"Shut up!" Winter roared. Silence filled the apartment. Winter snapped a finger at Cardin, "Winchester. Put on some pants and tie Ren up. Ilia, pack what you need. We are moving to a new location."

"Yes ma'am," Cardin said, making his way back to the showers with no attempt to cover up, bubbles and foam trailed in his wake.

Ilia swallowed and nodded.

Winter turned to Ozpin, shaking her head. "He's cracked. Shit. That Tyrian man must have pushed him over the edge."

"Unlikely," Ozpin said.

"With all due respect, sir," Winter sighed, "he's not the first and he won't be the last."

Ozpin shook his head, "You do not feel it. But I do. There is a buzz of magic in the air. It's powerful, I can almost taste it."

"Magic?"

"They must have found your vehicle," Ozpin concluded. He nodded to Ren, "they must have found his blood. I do not know how they have access to such knowledge and power, but I suspect Salem had taught Tyrian a few tricks. It is inconceivable, but the evidence is there."

"Blood magic?" Winter asked, skeptical.

"Exactly." Ozpin said, kneeling down next to Ren.

He placed a palm on Ren's wet clammy forehead. Ozpin started to chant, and Winter felt her skin crawl. She couldn't make out the words, but she _felt_ the power. Ozpin's hands started to glow green, and suddenly Winter felt nauseous.

A stink of charred flesh filled the air, but there was no fire, no smoke.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

* * *

"Fuck!" Tyrian hissed, "Shit!"

That was all Tyrian managed to say before he started screaming.

Adam recoiled. Tyrian kept screaming. The symbols and words carved onto the floor began to smoke and char. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

"Tyrian!"

"The old man! The farm hand! The wizard!" Tyrian screeched, "He knows! He sees me! He-"

He screamed again, but not in pain this time. It was the howl of frustration, of a plan foiled.

A handprint, burning red and hot, sizzled onto the skin of Tyrian's pale face. The stench of burnt blood intensified. The air was abuzz with energies, and green light pulsed and flashed from the carved runes.

The Black Claws burst into the room, weapons drawn. The sight and smell gave them pause.

Then, as soon as it started, Tyrian stopped screaming. His howls of anger and frustration softened and became giggles. Giggles turned to full-blown laughter as if this was all one big joke. "Oh blessed am I!" He cackled, "To bleed and suffer for Her! Witness me, my Mistress! For this marks my devotion to you!"

"Adam?" Yuma called out. He was hesitant, unsure what to do.

"He's fine," Adam said ignoring the madman, "Signal the men. We don't have much time."

* * *

They hit a bump in the road, and that shook Ren awake.

He took in his surroundings. He was on the floor of a car, that much he could tell. He looked down, to see a pair of combat boots resting on his chest. Looking up, he sees Russel glaring down at him. Ozpin, and Ilia sat beside him, and Qrow – in bird form- was on Ozpin's knee, looking down at him like he was a corpse. Cardin was squeezed off to the side, the larger man looking very uncomfortable crammed in the back.

"Ah…" Ren hissed.

"Rise and shine, asshat," Russel growled.

"Get your fucking boots off me, asshole," Ren winced. He frowned, "Hey Russel. Why are my hands tied? Why does everything hurt? Brothers! My head feels like someone kicked it!"

"You don't remember what happened?" Russel asked, his expression softening.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Ren hissed, "Did someone actually kick my head?"

"Yes, Lie," Winter's voice floated in from the front seat, "I did."

Ren blinked, his head still swimming. "You did?"

"She did." Came a voice Ren had not heard for a very long time.

"Is that you, Ciel?" Ren called up from below.

"It is. Now stop struggling. You are shaking the car."

Groaning, Ren relaxed his body. "So, someone want to tell me what happened?"

"You were possessed, Mr Lie," Ozpin explained, "blood magic, it would seem. Don't worry, I severed the connection."

"Fuck me," Ren let his head drop back onto the ground, "things just keep getting weirder."

* * *

The door flew open with a kick. The Black Claws stormed in, guns up. Fast, violent, and deadly.

Adam led the way, always leading by example.

No gunfire met them. He signalled to the team, and they cleared out every corner, every nook, every cranny. But it was clear that the target had left.

Tyrian hissed a curse as he crawled along the floor, his nose working like a hunting animal. What made Tyrian so feared during his murdering sprees were his eyes for detail. He was a hunter of men, and what separated the hunter from the hunted were details.

Details such as the dried residue of wet boot prints on the floor, like the faint reek of body sweat, like the damp carpet in front of the showers.

"There's no one here, Tyrian." Adam sighed.

"They were here," Tyrian whispered, drinking in more details.

A warm stovetop. A damp cloth that had faint stains of red. A black feather on the table. He picked up the feather and sniffed it. It didn't smell like a wild bird, and birds usually did not fly this high up.

"Branwen," Tyrian's eyes widened, "so he's here too."

"Who?" Adam asked.

"An acquaintance."

Adam waved the squad in and shut the door. He sighed, putting down his weapon. "They escaped, then."

"It would seem so."

"Or your little ritual failed."

Tyrian scoffed, "Impossible. My mistress would never mislead me like this."

Adam didn't bother to respond. He studied the apartment, looking for clues. If Oscar had been here before, then surely they left some clues, some hints for their whereabouts.

"Adam!" Yuma called out. Yuma tossed him something and Adam caught it without looking. He examined the object, turning it around in his hands, and did a double-take.

"Where did you find this?" Adam asked, holding a lightning Dust cartridge. It was custom, a Huntsmen's weapon. He recognized the design, for he had helped every elite fighter under his command procure their own custom reloads.

"Next to the bed," Yuma said, "she was here. The little traitor was here."

"Ilia," Adam growled.

"Did she know anything about the boy?" Yuma asked.

"No," Adam shook his head, "his location, yes. But his purpose and significance? No."

In truth, not even Adam knew. But he was not about to admit that in front of his men.

One of the reasons why Adam had felt this mission was doomed from the start was the lack of information. Usually, when hunting a target, assassinations, kidnapping, he would spend a good amount of time gathering information about the target. But for this target, Oscar, he knew nothing. He found nothing. He didn't even know why he was being kept in the blacksite to begin with. As far as he was concerned, the man was a farmboy that went in over his head.

Yet he still had to follow through with this mission, unless…

"It's a lost cause," Adam growled, "we wasted the lives of our men for nothing."

Tyrian whirled around, eyes narrowed, "Tread carefully, boy."

Adam sneered, "No, you listen. If this keeps up, none of us will leave Atlas alive. No target is important enough to warrant the sacrifice of an entire platoon of elite fighters."

"Don't you dare, boy," Tyrian hissed, his Grimm red eyes almost popping out of his skull as he sneered at Adam. "you either pull this off or die trying. I will not come crawling back, snivelling like a worm in front of Her Majesty."

"We do not know where this Oscar person is," Adam growled, "now that he's moved, I will not go on a wild goose chase and lose more men."

Tyrian laughed, throwing back his head and cackling so loudly it made Adam cringe. But as suddenly as he had started, he stopped. He looked Adam in the eye, not smiling anymore.

"You forget, Adam Taurus," Tyrian said, unusually calm and collected, "that your beloved _toy_ lives due to Her Majesty's will alone."

With that, Tyrian started chanting. He did not say anything that Adam recognized, but he _felt_ the power behind the words.

A scream.

Adam spun around, recognizing Blake's voice. It had been years since he had heard her talk or even remotely make a sound. But instinctively, he recognized her scream.

Blake was writhing on the ground, black and red eyes wide with horror. She gasped, drawing in a deep ragged breath. Black blood oozed from her mouth, her ears, her eyes, smoking, and billowing, blistering her pure white skin. She reached out her hands to Adam, as if for help. She let out a gurgle, a choking sound of a person drowning in their own blood.

The other Black Claws raised their weapons, unsure whether to be aiming at Blake or at Tyrian. They looked at Adam, their eyes wide with surprise and horror.

Tyrian clicked his fingers.

There was a sickening crack, as one of Blake's fingers deformed and fractured, folding in upon itself. She screamed again, loud and too human to be a Grimm. The men flinched.

"Stop!" Adam yelled, drawing out his sword, "Stop! Tyrian!"

"What are you going to do, kill me?" Tyrian arched an eyebrow. There was no gleeful glint of sadism in his eyes. He looked as if he was bored, as the suffering of Blake brought him no joy at all. As if Blake wasn't human, and was just a...a thing. "Your little pet's blood will keep boiling unless I stop it. You kill me and she burns to ash from within."

"I-" Adam backed away, not turning his back to Tyrian as he went to Blake's side. She clutched onto him, and Adam bit back a hiss as his Aura fluctuated from the extreme heat.

"Adam? Adam!" One of his men called.

"Put the guns down! Down, dammit!"

"And-" Tyrian snapped his fingers again. Blake howled as another one of her fingers broke, "-I can break-" Tyrian clicked his fingers again.

Another sickening crack. Blake was holding onto Adam so hard he started to bleed, but he squeezed his hands back. He panicked, the sight of Blake suffering blanketing his mind with terror.

A sharp _snap!_

Blake's ankle twisted and cracked.

"-any part-"

A grinding sound, like gravel upon gravel.

Her wrist folded back onto itself and fell limp. She wasn't even screaming now, the human part of her mind so overwhelmed by agony she was simply opening and closing her mouth, unable to make a sound.

"-of her body."

Adam looked at Tyrian, and Tyrian smiled when he saw the wild eyes of desperation. It was fitting on Adam's face, a branded slave. Tyrian knew he had cornered him.

"Please, Tyrian! Stop! I'll do it!"

Tyrian's smile widened. "Get on your knees, dog."

"I-"

Tyrian clicked his fingers again. There was a loud pop, and Blake's gasping turned into a whimper as her entire arm twisted, breaking in a dozen places at once.

Adam fell on his knees and slammed his head to the ground, so hard it splintered the wooden floor. "Please, Tyrian. Please forgive me, please stop it. Please stop _please just stop!"_

Somehow, the burning humiliation hurt a lot more than any physical pain he had endured.

Adam was there again, all those years ago. He was back in the Dust mines, on his knees begging. Begging for the life of someone else, like an animal, like a slave. The overseers knew they couldn't break him, so they broke his mother. Dragged her into open and battered her as they forced him to watch. He remembered. The entire time, his mother looked at him, forcing a smile on her face, even as she cried in pain and terror.

A shadow loomed over him. Adam looked up, knowing it was Tyrian, but seeing that human overseer leering down at him, the same cruel smile plastered on their faces.

In that moment, Adam swore to kill Tyrian.

"Get up, Adam,"

He obeyed, casting a glance at Blake. She was sitting on the floor, upright. Her expression was back to its blank nature. Her wounds were already healing, and her limbs were slowly setting themselves back. Soon, even the black blood pooling around her will smoke and dissipate, leaving no evidence of the events that transpired.

The other men did not look at Adam. They looked away, biting their lips. Their weapons were not lowered entirely, and there was a look of disgust and terror on their faces. Some of them were shaking. Adam knew it was unbecoming of him to show such a display of weakness and humiliation in front of them, but…

But he needed to save Blake.

Tyrian slide beside Adam, and put his arms around his shoulders. Adam's gorge rose.

"You see, I would let your men go. We can complete the mission, just you, me, and your little Blake over there," Tyrian began, his face uncomfortably close to Adam's. He didn't turn to look, but kept his eyes straight forward, "I am not Cinder. I understand the difficulty of tracking down a target in a large city filled with armed guards. I understand the bond and responsibility you have towards you and your men. But remember, She transcends all."

Adam swallowed. Sometimes, he forgot that the Ripper of Anima was right beside him. The man was now a zealot of the worst kind, and wielded powers and knowledge unknown to most of Remnant.

"But lucky for you, Uncle Tyrian here knows a thing or two about hunting prey," He sniggered, "you see, sometimes it is not about hunting your prey. If the prey is alert enough, they will run. If the prey has friends, it will hide behind them. Do you know what we do then?"

"Then…" Adam lowered his head, wracking his brains, "are you suggesting we let him come to us?"

Tyrian clapped Adam on the back, "Now you are thinking! To an extent, yes! Lay a trap, a bait, something so irresistible that the prey could not help but come to you, to fold to your will!"

"Like? I don't know this Oscar kid. I do not know anything about your target. I don't even know why you want him dead! All he was to us was a high-value prisoner we kept at our blacksite."

"Think!" Tyrian hissed, "Your mind is addled. Clouded due to what I did. But there is a lesson in that! Look at the bigger picture, and you will see it!"

"I…." Adam paused. He looked at Blake, and she looked back at him. She was pristine, like her little torture session had never occurred. Why would Tyrian…

"She was the bait," Adam swallowed, "my irresistible bait."

"Correct!" Tyrian clicked his fingers in affirmation, and Adam winced, "Now I also know nothing about Oscar. But you do know who took Oscar from Menagerie. They were guarding him after all."

"Winter Schnee," Adam straightened, "wherever she is now, the target must be with her."

"And to bait out Winter Schnee, is to bait out Oscar," Tyrian smiled like a proud teacher witnessing their student solve a particularly hard problem, "now tell me, Adam Taurus. Do you know how to lure out our prey now?"

Looking out of the window, Adam set his sights on a particular building looming in the distance.

Schnee Manor.

"Yes," Adam nodded, "Yes I do."


End file.
